What Comes After
by November'sGuest
Summary: Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call." Sam and Dean go back to Palo Alto after Rebecca Warren contacts them about violent deaths happening around Sam's old apartment. Meanwhile, Dean continues to dream of Jessica. Set during early season two.
1. Chapter 1: Follow Me Into the Dark

**Title: **What Comes After**  
Author: **November'sGuest  
**Character's: **Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.  
**Category: **Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU  
**Rating: **T (PG-13)  
**Spoilers: **None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.  
**Disclaimer: **Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun and not profit.**  
Summary: **Sam and Dean travel to Stanford to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

**A/N #1: **To all those who've asked for the sequel to The Wake-Up Call, been waiting over a year for it, and expressed your anticipation of it, I thank you. I never expected WUC to develop any kind of a following and I've been humbled and thrilled by your responses to it. I hope this sequel will be satisfying, meet your expectations and take you on the journey you've been expecting and hoping for. I'll do my best.

Naturally, this is a work in progress and, as you all know, I'm not a weekly updater, but I always strive to get subsequent chapters up as fast as my real life allows. In advance, I'd like to thank each one of you who will have the stamina to read and review as we go along…you keep me motivated, inspired and grateful. I can NEVER say thank you enough. Without you, I'm quite certain I'd sink into the pits of despair and flounder. Seriously, you keep my spirits uplifted and make the agonizing I inflict upon myself worthwhile.

I want to thank Gaelicspirit, Sodakey and my betas for all of their help with this. Gaelic took time from her hugely busy life to take my notes and work up an outline for the first two chapters (to show me how it was done) and then continued her wonderful support by reading it at various stages to reassure me and prod me along. Thank you, dear friend, for listening to my whining and giving me the words I needed to keep going.

Despite her insane work schedule, Sodakey brought her wonderful expertise to the table not once, but twice. Her comments, suggestions and lessons have been an invaluable learning experience for me and I'm very grateful for her help, patience and time. I only hope I can carry your lessons forward. Thank you for making room for me and this project—the title is dedicated to you!

Last, but not least, were my awesome beta readers, Mady Bay (whose life is exciting enough to be a story all its own, lol) and Tidia (who fits me in between her own prolific authoring projects). They took what we had and double checked for mistakes and offered their own suggestions. Thank you, ladies, I _so_ appreciate it.

**For those who have not read "The Wake-Up Call" or just need a reminder of important events, here's what you need to know:** Following "Devil's Trap," Dean is left in a coma while John and Sam recover from non-serious injuries of their own. Due to injuries to his lungs, Dean develops Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome (ARDS) amongst other things. ARDS can take months or even a few years to completely recover from.

Also, because of his near death experience (NDE), Dean now has the new ability to communicate with supernatural beings through dreams or visions…including Sam. Unlike Sam's abilities, Dean cannot see the future nor have visions without a supernatural presence to channel them. He can only communicate (sometimes pulling Sam into his mind) with Sam because of Sam's own psychic abilities and only when they are physically touching, when Dean is unconscious or if the emotions are strong enough…think of Dean as a human EMF detector or a HAM radio sending out and receiving supernatural signals.

After leaving the hospital, Dean, Sam and John crash at Missouri's to recoup. Things happen there and Dean's injuries are re-opened, he battles a demon embedded in him, receives several disturbing visions/hallucinations that nearly break him (thanks to said demon) and dies/goes to Heaven for a brief period. Now John and Jay (a licensed MD/third generation medicine man, friend of John's) have left in pursuit of the YED and Sam and Dean remain at Missouri's to allow Dean time to finish healing. Meanwhile, Dean has disturbing, painful visions/dreams of Jessica—leaving both he and Sam stumped as to why.

Oh, and my Missouri is completely AU since I wasn't altogether happy with how she treated Dean in "Home," and, yet, I still see her character as being a wonderful resource for the boys.

What Comes After

Chapter One: Follow Me Into the Dark

**12:00 AM, November 2, 2006**

_Outside, lightning crashed, filling the air with ozone and bright flashes of light. Rain and wind beat against the window. Rolling thunder shook the glass panes, vibrating the walls. Inside, candlelight flickered as a voice rose and fell in steady cadence._

"Quod superius est sicut quod inferius est sicut quod superius ad pertranda miracula rei unis."

_Shadows moved on the walls as various herbs were mixed in a wooden bowl. A photograph hung above the flame of a large pillar candle sitting between two smaller ones. _

"I conjure and command thee, o ye fallen. I conjure thee by him to whom all creatures are obedient, by the ineffable name by which the elements are overthrown, the air is shaken, the sea is turned black. Fire is quenched, the earth shudders and all the hosts of things in Heaven, of things in earth, of things in Hell, do tremble and are confounded. Come forth. Come forth and be bound to this object and to the blood of the one whose image I burn."

_Gray ash tinged in white floated upward as the picture disintegrated, its elements rearranged—forever altered by the fire. _

"I conjure thee, by Barabas, by Satanas, and the Devil. As thou art burning, let the deceitful heart of Winchester be broken. I conjure thee by the Saracen Queen, and the name of Hell. Let him find no solace, let him find no peace. Let this image seal his fate, bound to this spirit I have called forth, bound to death and to pain and to fire by blood."

_Drops of deep crimson fell as a knife sliced through flesh, coating the herb concoction._

_"_Obey these words of power. Watchers of the threshold, watchers of the gate, unbar the guarded door. Obey this command of this servant of power."

_With a sudden clap of thunder, the candles extinguished and the room fell black and silent. _

_Moments later, a soft, swaying light took form in the middle of room._

"Jess…? Is it you?"

**Late December 2006**

Waking with a groan, Sam turned his head and snuggled deeper into his pillow. Tired. He was bone tired and the bed felt good—warm and inviting. The urge to fall back to sleep was overwhelming. But something tugged at his consciousness. Before he had time to think much about it, a low grunt sounded, followed by the whisper of sheets rubbing against blankets.

Dean was dreaming. Again. It had been happening with increased regularity for nearly a month until there was nothing but broken nights filled with worry and sleeplessness.

Sam lay still, listening for signs of dream turned to nightmare—like it had _every single day this week_. Felt more like _months_. Fatigue had a way of exacerbating a situation and making one prone to exaggeration. Sam was feeling a little raw around the edges.

He wished, for a moment, he could ignore it this one time—pretend it wasn't happening and he could roll back into easy sleep.

Guilt stabbed through him. Not like Dean was enjoying what was happening to him, what had been growing increasingly more intense each week, each day. Hollow, weary green eyes couldn't hide the truth. Dean's painful visions of Jessica were taking their toll, wearing down his already weakened body. Sam tried not to worry, but with Dean's lungs still healing from the ARDS (Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome), and with everything else that had happened to them, it was hard not to.

Even though their dad's room was now vacant, Sam had continued sleeping in the twin bed Missouri had pushed in with Dean's full. The first several days after coming home from Jay's clinic, Sam had lain awake every night just listening to Dean breathe, listening for the slightest hitch, the slightest thing that might signal a problem.

And he still had good reason to be cautious.

Though Dean's other injuries were well on their way to healing, his lungs were still a concern. Short sparring matches made Dean breathless and a quick trip to Bobby's had left him fatigued and grouchy as hell. Sam still had to be very careful not to hit Dean in the chest area where the worst wounds had just begun to lose their scabbing. Dean's mounting frustration with his slow recovery made every attempt at returning to normal a tax on everyone's patience.

Across from him, Dean whimpered, one arm flinging out from under the covers to hang limply over the bed. Sam wondered what Dean was seeing at that very moment—wondered how _she_ looked, if she was as beautiful in Dean's dreams as she was in his own.

Not for the first time, he desperately wished he could see what his brother saw, hear her call out _his_ name. It was worse knowing he actually could, if he wanted to. With Dean's new abilities, all Sam had to do was lay a hand on his brother and he'd know. He'd see whatever it was Dean saw when Jessica visited him. She'd come to Dean every night this week. At first, her visits had been sporadic, unpredictable. Dean always woke at the very second she reached out and touched him. And he always woke before she could say anything that would help them figure this out.

Deep down Sam was jealous. He didn't envy Dean the migraines and nosebleeds, but he longed to be the one who she came to for help. He longed to look at her just one more time.

Why Dean? It made no sense. She'd only met him once. Why hadn't she chosen Sam to reach out to? And how was any of this possible? They'd spent a week in Palo Alto searching for any sign that her spirit lingered, that she was trapped in this plane of existence—but they'd found nothing. It just didn't add up. No matter how many times Sam went over it in his head, no matter how many times he grilled Dean about every detail of what happened in the dreams, it just didn't make sense to him.

"No. Don't—" Dean cried out, jerking his head to the side.

Sam's thoughts fled. This was something new.

Focusing everything on his brother, he listened to see if there would be more.

"Wh-what do y'want?" Dean mumbled.

Sitting up, Sam leaned close, peering into the dark, watching Dean's face become a taut grimace. By now, his brother should be awake, gasping for breath and reaching for the box of tissues on the nightstand.

Dean's brows pulled in more and his upper lip curled with a pained grunt. "Jessica…please, stop."

Sam's heart leapt into his throat. Images of blonde hair and soft smiles glimmered through his mind—familiar embraces that made him ache with loneliness and carefree laughter that warmed him through. He _missed_ her. He missed her being in his life—missed her every single day.

Dean's lips pursed. He tossed his head away from Sam, saying no more.

Suddenly, Sam couldn't push the temptation away.

_I need to know_, he thought. _I __**have**__ to know. Maybe if I'm there, she can tell me what she hasn't been able to tell Dean._

Kneeling next to Dean's bed, he reached out and let his fingertips hover above his brother's wrist. Electric excitement buzzed up his arms and he shivered in anticipation. _Dean's gonna be pissed, _he thought before letting the space between his flesh and Dean's close.

Brilliant pain sliced through Sam's brain like a branding iron. His vision streaked white and pressure imploded inside his head. Eyes squeezed shut, he moaned through clenched teeth, felt himself stumble. Was he…_standing_? Aware that he was on his feet, he realized none of what he was experiencing now was real. No sound or sight penetrated the agony tripping through his brain at first, but as the fog began to clear, he instinctively understood it was Dean's pain he was feeling. Pain caused by Jessica.

_Jessica._

Sam forced his eyes open. Dean was standing a few feet to the front, his back to Sam. Jessica was facing them both, backlit by a window. Sam froze. She looked radiant. White flowing dress, golden curls cascading down her shoulders—she looked like an angel. _His _angel. His whole body tightened with need.

"Dean, help me," Sam heard her say. Her voice was muffled, broken up like a bad connection and it was difficult to make out all the words.

"I don't know how," he heard Dean's strained reply. "I-I don't know what you want from me."

Jessica stepped toward Dean and lifted an arm, beckoning. Immediately the pain intensified and Sam crushed both fists into his eyes, knowing the pain wasn't really his, that he wasn't even really there.

Dean grunt loudly. "N-no…stay back," he growled.

Dropping his hands, Sam saw Dean bending forward slightly, one palm digging into his temple.

"Please, Dean. Have to listen…I'm…alone," came Jessica's garbled reply.

Heart pounding loudly in his ears, Sam strained to hear what she saying. Desperation and longing filled his voice as he called, "Jess! Jessica!"

Whirling around with surprised shock in his voice, Dean demanded, "Sam? What're you doing?"

Intent on Jessica, Sam ignored his brother and started to move forward, eyes full of longing.

Jessica's face twisted in confusion and hope. "Sam? Sam's here?" Her eyes scanned the same general direction Dean was facing, but she looked right through him as if he were invisible. She couldn't see him. He stopped dead in his tracks, confused. Dean could see him, but Jess couldn't?

"Sam—" Dean began, taking a step.

Coming up from behind, Jessica's arm grazed Dean's and immediately he doubled forward, going to his knees, gasping. The last image Sam had of Jess, she was reaching for Dean, fear transforming her face.

"No! Jess!" Sam cried, then he was abruptly pulled back to reality.

Beside him, Dean jackknifed, sucking in air, eyes wide as he pulled free from Sam's grasp. Blood droplets stained his lips red and his hands buried in his hair, fingers burrowing into his scalp as if to claw away the pain.

Sam jerked back, falling against his own bed, eyes wildly searching the room. Dean flung the covers back, twisted his legs over the side and snatched a handful of tissues to staunch the blood flow. Hunching over, breath coming in muffled pants, Dean cradled his head. Sam quickly pushed to his knees and knelt in front of him, resting a hand on Dean's knee. He searched his brother's face. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean said nothing, but his tremors bled into Sam's hand and arm. Sam bit down on the remembrance of white heat searing the back of his own eyelids.

"Dean, man—"

Head coming up, eyes burning bright, Dean yelled, "Damn it, Sam! What the hell did you think you were doing?"

Sam pulled back, fingers reflexively tightening around Dean's knee. "I-I just thought that, you know, maybe—"

"You just thought? You mean you did this on _purpose_?"

Sam pushed up and plopped helplessly onto the edge of his bed. "I thought I could help. I thought maybe if I was there—if I could just talk to her—"

"God, Sam." Dean shook his head. "I told you, stay out of my head."

Averting his eyes, Sam stared at his hands instead. He could feel Dean peering at him closely.

"You did it just to see her, didn't you?"

"No. No, Dean." He raised his gaze back to Dean's. "I thought I could help…"

Dean looked at him with knowing, so Sam rushed on, "Fine. Okay, maybe I _did_ want to see her, but I also thought... maybe I could talk to her, find out what she wanted."

"And what, Sam? You don't think I've tried?"

"That's not—"

Cutting his eyes away from Sam, Dean stood and staggered across the room to pitch the dirtied tissues into the trashcan, cutting off the expected denial.

Stifling the urge to go to him, Sam carefully folded his hands in his lap. "…Dean, would you just listen? Please."

Dean didn't turn around. His shoulders fell and he paused, gripping the cherry-brown dresser to keep himself steady. He was listening.

Sam swallowed and pressed his lips together to keep in the instinctive 'are you okay.' Dean would just deny deny deny. Shaking his head, Sam said instead, "Look, I know you've been doing your best to figure this out, but I can't just keep sitting around doing nothing. I have to be a part of this, Dean. It's _Jess_."

Shaking his head, Dean turned slowly to face Sam. "I know. Okay? I know how important this is to you, but you can't just go hopping and skipping through my head whenever you feel like it. Especially not now—_because_ it's Jess."

Sam pulled in his bottom lip, then sighed heavily as he shook his head. On some level, he knew Dean was only watching out for him, that he might even be right, but this was not something he was prepared to let go.

Dean crossed back over to his bed and eased down. "Sam. I watched what you went through last year and I won't watch you go through that again. I won't. You can't keep putting yourself through this. Don't make this harder than it has to be."

Sam's heart hitched. Blatant worry and concern shone clearly in Dean's eyes. His brother might be angry and uncomfortable with having Sam charge uninvited into his head, but the real fear was what damage seeing Jessica again might cause. He didn't want it, though. Dean had spent far too much of his life worrying over him.

Speaking softly, Sam said, "Dean, man, I'm not made of glass. I won't break. I know you're worried—"

"Damn straight I'm worried."

"—but I'm okay." Sam ignored the hard stare and kept going. "Yeah, it's hard… And yes, it hurts like hell, but I'm a big boy, Dean. I can take care of myself."

Dean's gaze skittered away and he dipped his head, hiding his eyes. Always hiding. It was his brother's best defense, Sam knew, but he could clearly see the muscle visibly ticking along Dean's jaw line.

Sam waited.

Dean sighed, and finally his head came up. With a wary sideways glance, he asked, "So, what do you want to do?"

Taking a steadying breath, Sam answered, "I think we need to go back to California."

Dean's eyes snapped. "What? Why? We already scoured the apartment and the graveyard and got nothing."

"Well, let's do it again. Maybe you'll pick up on something. Maybe if you're closer to where it happened, maybe…I don't know…you'll be able to hear her better—or maybe she'll be able to see me and _I_ can talk to her."

"You hear what you're saying, Sam?" Dean shook his head then huffed. "No. Just—no. I don't think it's a good idea."

"Why not? Maybe we missed something before. Or maybe something's changed. If we can get you closer to the source, maybe the dreams will become clearer."

"What, like an EMF detector? You want to go to California and see if my bulbs light up?"

Sam shrugged. "You got any better ideas? 'Cause," he waved a hand toward the trashcan full of bloodied tissues, "you can't keep doing this. Dean…this isn't just about Jess. I'm worried about you."

Dean glanced away, completely ignored the last part. He rubbed his hands up and down his thighs. Shaking his head, he said, "I don't know, Sam. I've got a bad feeling about this."

"What kind of bad feeling?"

"I don't know…just…something doesn't _feel_ right."

"Dean."

"I can't really explain it, okay, but I don't like it." Dean scratched the back of his head, then rubbed his neck. "Maybe we should just wait, see what happens here. The dreams seem… I think I'm getting closer to figuring out what she's saying. Maybe I just need more time."

Shooting to his feet, Sam paced to the dresser, then abruptly pivoted toward Dean. Spreading his hands wide, he said, "And what if she's suffering? She said she needs our help…what if there's a clock running on this thing and that's why the dreams are intensifying…maybe she's panicking. I know that look she had, Dean—she was scared."

"Scared?" Dean's lips twisted as he asked, "Of what?"

Sam floundered. "Well, you heard her. She's alone. Jess never liked being alone."

Standing, Dean touched Sam's elbow. "Sam... I don't know, man… I'm not sure that's what she meant."

Sam shook his head. He'd seen the look on Jess's face, the fear, the need. It cut him and made panic burn through his heart. He knew Jess. He knew her better than he knew anyone other than Dean. He hated seeing her hurt. He hated this helplessness. It stung that Dean was in a better position to help her.

Unexpectedly, he felt angry. He knew this wasn't Dean's fault, he _knew_ it, but there it was, hot and fierce. "And how would you know? Did you know her? Did you live with her day in and day out? How could you even begin to know what she wants?"

"Sam—"

The room was suddenly too stuffy, too confining. Suddenly he had to be somewhere else. As he stalked out of the room, he could feel Dean's eyes on his back, but the urge to get away was stronger than the urge to stay. He needed out.

Scrubbing a hand across his face, Dean sighed. _What a mess_. This whole damn thing was about as screwed up as it could get…and he hadn't the slightest idea what to do about it. Here under the cover of darkness, he could admit to himself that he was shaken. The emotions coming off both Sam and Jess were enough to rattle anyone's cage, but the physical punch this ability packed just topped the whole damn cake.

Sam was right about one thing, this couldn't continue.

Missouri's careful instruction had taught Sam how to block Dean out—at least to some extent. But Dean hadn't had much luck at all keeping Sam, much less Jess, from overwhelming _him._ And now…

He clasped his shaking hands together to still them.

He wanted to make this as easy as possible for his brother. Protect him. But, no way was Sam going to escape this untouched, and for that, Dean was deeply sorry. Worse, he knew Sam's patience was at its end and he'd no longer tolerate being pushed to the sidelines. Not that Dean blamed him—not at all—but it didn't stop him from trying to keep his brother safe.

The clock on the wall chimed the hour, announcing impending sunrise. He glanced up at the offender and took a deep breath, trying to settle himself. He needed to check on Sam. Most of the dizziness had worn off and he was reasonably sure he could risk going after his brother without falling on his face. He took his time standing all the same.

Emerging from a quick trip to the bathroom, the robust scent of coffee greeted him as soon as he stepped into the hallway. It pulled him in the direction of the kitchen—which is where he hoped to find Sam. He obeyed his nose, thinking a cup of coffee was exactly what he needed.

Bundled in her fuzzy housecoat, Missouri was already pouring two mugs of strong brew when he turned the corner. She nodded for him to join her at the table.

Shaking his head in wonder at the psychic, Dean complied. He wrapped his fingers around the hot ceramic and leaned in to breathe the rising steam into his lungs. Nothing like a good cup of Joe to set the world right.

Gesturing with a finger, Dean asked, "Have you seen Sam?"

She nodded toward the door. "He's out on the porch. Needed to catch his breath I'd imagine."

Which meant, _give_ _him some time. _

Dean nodded. "Thanks," he said, picking up the coffee and cautiously slurping a mouthful.

"Well, I couldn't sleep anyway. Too much going on in here," she flapped her hand around her head, "if you know what I mean."

Dean smirked into his cup. "Yeah, I do." _All too well_, he thought.

The early morning quietness blanketed them in companionable silence. Dean too wrapped up in his thoughts to make small talk and Missouri too busy riding the waves rolling off her troubled companion.

"Can I help?" she finally asked.

Lifting his head a fraction, Dean sighed. The corner of his mouth lifted in a half-hearted grin as he laughed softly, "Can you talk to the dead?"

The sound of the front door rattling open and then quietly clicking shut staved off whatever response Missouri would have given. Dean couldn't bring himself to feel sorry about that.

Sam's footfalls sounded on the hardwood flooring, coming closer to the kitchen, setting off both relief and apprehension inside Dean. He didn't like fighting with Sam, but he also didn't like him too far out of his sight, either.

Sam paused in the doorway, seeing them both seated at the table, clearly unsure of what he had walked in on.

Missouri glanced between them, and then rolled her eyes. "Come in, Sam, honey, and have some coffee with us. I was just about to get up and start breakfast anyway."

Dean looked at Sam, who glanced quickly away, and then resolutely set his eyes on his coffee mug.

"Come on, come on," Missouri urged, "set yourself down and take a load off."

Shifting from one foot to the other, Sam hesitated, then seemed to make up his mind. "Yeah, okay," he said softly. "I'm just gonna grab my phone so I can check for messages."

It didn't take long before Sam came back and settled himself adjacent from Dean. While he played with his phone, Dean finally worked up the courage to end the silence between them.

"You okay?" he asked gruffly.

Something more must've bled through because Sam's attention was instantly on him, traveling over him, assessing and concerned.

"Yeah," he answered. "You?"

Dean spread a hand out and said, "Got a beautiful woman cooking me breakfast and hot cup of coffee. What more could I possibly need?"

Sam huffed as if he thought maybe there was plenty to be said about that. But he said nothing, just gave a short, jerky nod and then he was back to pressing buttons on his phone. Over the top of Sam's head, Missouri threw Dean a disapproving look, but it lost its affect when her lips curved into an easy smile.

Hand on hip, she jibed, "False compliments will get you nowhere, young man. And you know it."

Dean gave her his most convincing 'Who me?' face. Shaking her head, Missouri turned back to her task. Dean stared at the top of his brother's head. Sam was staring intently at the tiny screen on his phone…the beginnings of a frown pulling at his face.

"What's up?" he asked, unsure if he should be concerned.

Sam glanced at Dean then back at his phone. "I just got a text from Rebecca. You remember Rebecca Warren, right?"

Dean pursed his lips and cocked his head. "Hot blonde. Saint Louis. Shape shifter. Right?"

"Yeah, that's her."

Schooling his features, Dean said, "She just missin' your ugly mug or—"

Shooting Dean a withering look, Sam said, "She's back at Stanford. Says she needs our kind of help."

Dean watched Sam punch in the number and put the phone to his ear. An image of pretty Rebecca flashed before his eyes, purples and yellows coloring her face from where the shifter had assaulted her. Dean cringed. It made him sick to think of her staring into_ his_ eyes, seeing _his_ face, as she was beat and tortured.

"Hey, it's Sam. I got your message." Sam looked back at Dean, then jerked his eyes up to the clock on the wall. "Oh, sorry. I forgot what time it was out there. I can call back—" Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, listening. "Are you sure? I didn't mean to wake you." Sam ignored Dean's snigger. "I'm fine—we're fine, thanks for asking. Yeah, he's here—we're in Kansas. No, just taking some downtime. Everyone there okay? Really? Yeah, I remember how that goes."

Sam laughed at whatever was said next, forcing Dean to roll his eyes. Then Sam sobered as he asked, "So, you said something about needing our kind of help? What've ya got?" Sam nodded, plucking at the placemat with his free hand. "Hmm. Mmm-hmm. Anyone hurt?"

Dean quirked his eyebrows over the rim of his mug, but Sam ignored him. His face was serious and businesslike.

"I don't understand. Why would you go back there?"

Behind them, Missouri banged a frying pan onto the stove, dropping a dollop of bacon grease into it as she turned on the heat.

"But—" Sam's eyes began roaming around the room, confusion changing to wariness. "You did what?" he screeched. "Why—?"

Dean's leg began jigging up and down and he didn't know quite what to do with his hands, so he tightened his grip on the mug between them.

Cutting his eyes to Dean's, Sam blinked, shock and misery plain on his features. Without warning, Sam drained of all color, twisting Dean's gut. Whatever was being said, it was bad. Dean leaned forward.

His heart sank as he heard Sam say, "Are you sure it was her?" Then, "Did she say anything?" Sam squeezed his eyes shut, asking, "When was this…? Do you think she was the one—" Nodding, Sam swallowed. "No. No, its okay, you did the right thing. We'll be there as soon as we can. Yeah, I'm…I'll be fine. Don't worry, Becky. We'll figure this out. I know. You, too. Bye."

It wasn't until Sam ended the call that Dean realized his fingers were clenched in a painful grip on the table. Slipping his hands to his lap, he forced himself to at least appear relaxed as he asked, "What's going on?"

Face hardening, not brooking any arguments, Sam stood, answering, "We're going to Stanford. Pack your bags."

"Sam, wait." Dean pushed out of his chair. "Tell me what that was about." Not sure his brother would stop to answer questions, relief washed over Dean when Sam paused and turned back.

"Rebecca said—they've seen Jess's ghost. In the old apartment."

The brothers stood staring at each other for a long minute. Dean broke the stalemate to skim his eyes around the room and then back. His heart tripped and he felt sick.

Swallowing, he asked, "Who's they?"

"Some of my friends. Rebecca told them what we did for her. What we do. Some people have been getting hurt around campus and they want us to come look into it."

Shifting to lean on the table, Dean sighed. "Oh."

Sam shrugged, grimness coloring his actions and body.

"Do they think Jess is the one hurting people?" More nausea rippled through his stomach even as he asked it. He couldn't even imagine what Sam must be feeling.

Shaking his head, Sam clipped, "They're not sure."

"Are they sure it was Jess they saw?"

"They're sure."

"She…say anything?"

Sam grimaced as he relayed, "Just…that she needs help and the single word 'alone.'"

Dean froze, the familiar words registering between them. He recognized the set of Sam's shoulders, the determined way he held his jaw. Reading his brother, he knew determination was building right along with the anxiety.

Shaking himself, Sam continued, "None of them could make out everything she was saying—said she kept cutting in and out, like a weak signal."

Dean knew even trying was a waste of time, but—

"Sam. Are you sure we're up to this?" His voice grate harshly in his throat as the words forced themselves out. He felt his heart skip when Sam's mouth tightened. His brother's hands balled up into fists at his side. Danger made the blue in his hazel eyes glitter brightly.

Eyebrows high, Sam said, "Doesn't matter. I'm going—with or without you."

Sam ended the conversation by leaving the room. Dean let his head drop, closed his eyes, and sighed through his nose. He'd give his right arm to make this go away, to go anywhere else but California. Why couldn't Jessica just stay dead? His traitorous thoughts stung and he shook his head free of them. That wasn't fair either. It wasn't her fault. The person he'd met, that pretty girl in the Smurf shirt, would never purposely do anything to hurt Sam.

That same cold, nagging feeling coiled inside. Something about this whole deal was way off. He couldn't put his finger on it, but… Dean's gut was _screaming_ danger loud and clear. The last thing he wanted to do was to take Sam back there. For this and many other reasons, he had hoped to avoid it. But no way was he letting his brother go back there alone. He sat up and pushed away from the table.

"Dean."

Missouri's voice sounded behind him and he couldn't quite contain the flinch.

"Looks like we'll be skipping breakfast, Missouri. Sorry." And that one word held so many layers that neither of them was certain for what he was really apologizing for.

He turned to meet the woman's knowing scrutiny, a sad, wry smile barely fixed firmly on his mouth.

Putting a hand to her heart, Missouri bit her lip and leaned heavily into the countertop. Dean wondered if she was feeling Sam's pain—was sorry for her if she was. When she shook her head in denial, almost as if she knew what'd he'd been thinking, he pretended not to see it.

"Well, I guess I'd better pack." He moved to leave the safety of the kitchen where he'd spent so much time for the many weeks of his recovery.

"Trust your instincts."

Head snapping up, he asked, "What?"

"Trust your instincts, Dean. Don't be afraid of what you feel…don't shut it out. It'll guide you." Her voice was pitched low, grave and solemn.

Dean nodded, pressing his fisted knuckles into the side of his leg.

"And, Dean," she began quickly, as if she was uncertain she should say it. "Please, take care of yourself. I know you'll watch out for Sam, but…you watch out for yourself, too. Nothing about this feels good."

Suspicion wrinkled his forehead as he asked, "Is there something you're not telling me?"

Missouri shrugged. "Nothing specific enough to help—or that you don't already suspect." Pausing, she drew out, "Just, I know how you get with him and…I'm saying maybe this time you should be watching out for yourself, too."

TBC

**A/N #2: The ritual at the beginning has been pieced together from a variety of online resources. Nothing is complete and everything is a mishmash of stuff, so don't be too surprised if it's less than accurate. ;)**

**Favorite song listened during the making of this chapter: "White Knuckles" by Alter Bridge**


	2. Chapter 2: Foreplay

**Title: **What Comes After**  
Author: **November'sGuest  
**Character's: **Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.  
**Category: **Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU  
**Rating: **T (PG-13)  
**Spoilers: **None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.  
**Disclaimer: **Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun and not profit.**  
Summary: **Sam and Dean travel to Palo Alto to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

**A/N #1: I cannot apologize enough to you guys for the length between chapters this time. I won't blame you at all if you decide to wait until the end to read…and for those who are brave enough and patient enough to endure, my heartfelt thanks. I don't deserve you.**

**Seriously, there were a ton of issues contributing to the delay, not the least of which was the hashing out of problems the original version had. Took two weeks to straighten it up—seriously. And I'm sure it still is so freakin' far from perfect that some would read this and feel the need to run away screaming, but the simple fact of the matter is that I can't go over it again or I just might rip my last hair out. **

**I really need to keep that last hair. I haven't even started making my school orders for next year or getting caught up on grades—packing up my room—so I need that one hair, lol! So I apologize for anything in here that doesn't work for you…I did what I could without completely losing my sanity.**

**To those who left kind comments and reviews, I do not have the words to express to you how much I appreciate it. I can't thank you enough. Your reviews keep me going, keep me inspired to finish this thing and it's because of you that I tried so hard to get this up more quickly than I did—because I want to show you my appreciation. My gratitude and thanks to you all.**

**To Gaelic and Sodakey—thank you both for the multiple e-mails and answered questions/suggestions that helped me along the way. You're advice was, as always, invaluable. I am humbled to have such talented people willing to give so freely of their time to me. I strive to make you proud to be a part of this project.**

**To Tidia and Mady—thank you both for cleaning up after me, you both have such sharp eyes and solid heads. I'm lucky to have you onboard. Thanks for keeping me grounded.**

**Special thanks this time to Laura for her medical advice. The inhaler lives because of you!**

* * *

Chapter 2: Foreplay

Dean had insisted on driving the first leg of the journey. "_I'm_ _good to drive," _he'd said and,_ "Sam, don't be such a girl."_ Seven hundred miles later, Sam had been jerked awake by the loud humming of tires hitting the rumble strips along the berm. He'd lunged for the wheel to keep them on the road, stretching one long leg across Dean's to smash the brake pedal to the floor. Shaken, Dean had whispered an apology, climbed out of the Impala without another word and let Sam slide into his place. Now Dean was sound asleep, the motion of the car jarring him sideways little by little until his temple came to rest against Sam's upper arm.

Merging onto the 84, less than half an hour outside Palo Alto, Sam felt a rock-hard weight settle in his stomach. Seeing his friends again, sightings of Jess and the possibility she might be hurting people—it all warred within, twisting and churning in his gut.

Underneath that pulsed steady concern for Dean. He'd nearly wrecked the Impala—with Sam in it. The only two things in the world that mattered to him. Sam knew Dean was tired of being coddled and wanted to get back to business as usual, but his body simply wasn't ready.

Dean still carried his inhaler. Sam never actually saw him use it, but knew he must or he wouldn't keep it on him. That in and of itself was the biggest tell that Dean wasn't as well as he pretended. Sam worried Dean would push himself too far to hide how he was really feeling. Going back to the scene of Jess's death had the potential to affect them both negatively and Sam needed his brother to be honest about his physical condition. Nearly crashing the Impala was just one more piece of evidence in a building case his mind could not deny.

Sam glanced down at Dean's head pressed against him, wondered how big the drool spot would be by the time they reached their destination. He lost his soft grin when Dean moaned the first time, his brother's hand jumping from the seat to rest palm up on Sam's thigh. He grew more concerned when soft moans formed into whispered nos. Because they were touching, Sam could vaguely sense anxiety building, brick upon brick, within his brother. It felt like an itch in the back of his brain that he couldn't quite scratch, only noticeable because he was looking for it.

Dean became increasingly fitful as they drew nearer to the apartment complex—sweat dampened his forehead and soaked through Sam's light jacket. Just as Sam had suspected would happen, Dean's lights were lit across the board. Worry twisted his stomach. He wondered if he was doing the right thing bringing Dean here. His past might destroy the only future he had left. Was it worth the risk? He'd thought it necessary at the time…didn't want to do this alone, but now…

The apartment building filled Sam's vision. A momentary glimmer of orange-yellow fire washed in stark red flashing burned through his mind. Taking a deep breath, he pushed the image away. He'd become good at compartmentalizing things that were never to be thought about or dwelled upon. Sam cut the engine and sat for a moment. Pretended not to notice the jump in his pulse when his eyes fell on the window that had once meant home. Instead, he focused on the steady tremble that bled out from Dean and straight into him. Let that keep him firmly in the now.

"Dean, we're here."

Sam felt the gravel in his voice and winced. He was fine. He was okay…he could do this. Looking down at Dean's spiky tufts of brown helped to ground him. Dean had always been there—a cornerstone through every trauma. Taking an unsteady breath, he jiggled his brother with his arm.

"Dean, man, wake up." When that didn't work, he tried, "Dude, you're drooling on my favorite jacket."

Dean's head jerked up and he blinked. Pushing off Sam, he looked out the window and then cut his eyes to Sam's. Wiping a hand across his mouth, he said, "You decide to skip the interview and research part?"

Sam sighed, rubbed at the rapidly cooling spot where Dean had been. "No. This is where Rebecca lives. She and Jess roomed together before..." He looked away. "After I moved in, Rebecca took an apartment over on the south-east side."

Dean cocked his head, frowning. "And you didn't think to mention this before?"

Sam lifted his eyebrows. "Doesn't really matter, does it? Sooner or later, we'd end up here anyway."

He winced at the soul-deep sadness lacing his voice. Even as Sam watched annoyance fall away, concern rushing in to take its place, he marveled at Dean's endless well of acceptance, forgiveness, trust.

"You okay?" Dean asked.

Funny, that. After all, Sam wasn't the one who'd been both shaking _and_ sweating in his sleep. "Yeah. Yeah, you?"

Dean smirked. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know," Sam shrugged, "you seemed…restless…especially the last ten minutes or so."

"I'm fine, Sam," came the automatic response. Dean turned to gaze out the windshield, expression neutral, closed. "So," Dean cleared his throat, continuing, "we doing this or what?"

Sam pushed his door open. "Let's go."

Nerves, stress, memories of the past, whatever it was, Sam couldn't help feeling…_freaked_. Never mind all the obvious stuff, 'cause, sure, he felt _naked_ meeting his friends again—no cloak of pretense to hide behind. There was definitely _that_ and all the stuff to do with Jess churning relentlessly, viciously through his mind.

Then there was a small part deep within that wondered what Dean would think of _them_, of his friends. And what they'd think of Dean. Sam was looking forward to seeing his friends again. Wondered how much had changed, what they were up to now. He'd _missed_ them. He could only hope his brother would be on his best behavior. Hope that his two worlds could merge peaceably long enough for them to get this done.

"You know, you don't have to worry about me."

Dean glanced sideways, eyebrows forming a question. "Yeah? Why's that?"

Sam stuffed his hands in his pockets and hunched his shoulders up. "Well, I'm actually looking forward to seeing them again. They're good people. Especially Aaron. He was my roommate while I was living in the dorms. Don't think I could've made it through that first year without him."

An odd look flitted across Dean's features, but he didn't say anything. Just nodded and kept walking.

Laughing, Sam said, "I remember this one time, during freshman year, Aaron got it in his head to play a prank on Chris, our other friend. And, well, ya gotta know Chris. He _totally_ had it coming."

Sam pulled the door open. "So, one night, we snuck into Chris's room." Sam's grin spread slowly over his face, dimples digging deep. "Slathered Icy Hot all over the toilet seat and put mustard packets under the toilet lid—you know, bent them in half and then positioned them under the lid so they'd bust when he sat down. Hid the toilet paper and smeared petroleum jelly on the handles of his sink faucet."

Dean was smiling now, sliding his eyes over to Sam as they walked. "Sammy, you naughty college boy."

"So about two o'clock that morning," Sam continued, "I guess he'd been out partying…we heard the most gawd-awful noise you'd ever heard. Chris was getting the full effect of the Icy Hot." He laughed openly. "You…y-you could hear the cursing the minute he hit the hallway."

Sam shook his head, the memory so vivid and so different from his last memory of Stanford.

"He knew immediately who'd done it, but…" He laughed again, "…but what he didn't know was that we had also rigged a bucket of deer scent over our door…so…so when he opened the door…" Sam grabbed his stomach and stopped walking. "When he opened the door to our room he was doused in it. Stunk up the whole dorm. People gave him a wide berth everywhere he went for two days after."

Dean threw his head back and guffawed deep from his throat. Sam couldn't help watching him, relishing the moment. It'd been so long since Dean had laughed like that. Complete, one hundred percent delight. It wrapped him in warmth tinged in sadness, tingled his skin and stirred memories of boyhood joy. Mentally, he tucked it away, put it on his list of things cherished.

"Ah, Sammy. I taught you well," Dean chortled.

Sam shrugged. "Well, yeah. It was mostly Aaron's idea…but the deer scent was all mine_."_

"So," Dean sobered, "what happened?"

"Well, Chris was pissed. He had an interview the next day that we didn't know about and he bloodied Aaron's nose before I could get between them. Residential Life made us pay for the clean up costs and, after that, we called a truce on the pranks."

Turning down the corridor to the stairs, Dean looked up to say something when a blonde in an EMT uniform railroaded straight into him—books, papers and purse spilling around them like wreckage.

"Whoa!" Dean yelped.

"I'm sorry," she began apologizing, clinging to Dean's forearms, steadying them both. "I'm really sorry. I'm late for work and I wasn't looking where I was going."

Sam groaned at the predictable gleam rising in Dean's eyes, the way his brother's lips curved into a charming grin as he bent to pick up the mess.

"Hey, no problem." Dean's voice growled an octave lower—just like it always seemed to do when pretty girls were involved. "Here, I got it."

And this girl was pretty. Clear blue-green eyes, freckles sprinkling translucent skin and dark, golden-blonde hair framing her face in loose curls. Sam, too, bent and began helping shuffle papers back together and stuff them into books.

"Thanks guys. I can't believe what a clutz I am," she said, scrambling to corral most of the mess herself.

Standing, she held out her hand, first to Sam. "Hi, I'm Lori Teague."

"Sam Winchester." He took her hand and squeezed it quickly then was shoved aside by Dean.

"Dean," his brother offered, lips twitching.

"Oh," her smile grew. "You must be the infamous Winchesters I've heard so much about."

Sam looked at Dean who spared him a surprised glance and then redirected his attention back to Lori.

"Ah, you've heard of us," he purred. Sam wanted to gag—rolled his eyes instead.

"I'm Becky's cousin. She told me what you did for her and Zach. Thank you for that."

"No problem. We were glad to help. Right, Sam?" Dean tapped Sam's chest with the back of his hand, full-wattage face-beam set to stun.

Lori's eyes clicked to Dean's and their gazes locked. Electricity snapped between them, made Sam feel awkward, like a third wheel or giant mole on the end of someone's nose.

Lori blushed, then rushed on, "Sorry I can't talk, guys. I'm late for work." She was already moving away from them when she turned to walk backwards, saying, "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, though. Everyone's eating here this evening."

"Great. Guess we'll catch ya later," Sam enthused, despite feeling a little sick at the thought of watching his brother drooling all over Miss Davis all evening. He grabbed Dean by the elbow and steered him down the hallway.

"Bye," Dean threw over his shoulder. Then, pulling out of Sam's grasp, Dean paused. "Wait. I thought we were just seeing Rebecca today. Now we're having a class reunion?"

Sam shrugged. "I, uh, called ahead while you were sleeping. They're all waiting for us in Rebecca's apartment. Why?"

The expression on Dean's face puzzled him, felt important. Not quite fear or anxiety, but definitely not far from either. Before he could put a finger on it, Dean had started moving up a set of stairs, burrowing further into his leather coat despite the balmy, California day. A shiver shook his brother's shoulders and Sam felt that pit settle back in his stomach.

"Come on, Bluto. Let's not keep you're friends waiting."

* * *

Dean let his brother walk a step ahead. Better to let Sam take point on this gig. Another sliver of cold snaked through him and he fought to keep the reaction controlled. No need to worry Sam. Boy had enough on his mind. He lifted a hand to his temple, rubbed at the building pressure behind his eyes. Ever since he'd awoke in the Impala, he'd felt the thrumming, pushing sensation inside his skull. Felt like his head was at maximum capacity and in danger of supernova. What had been a slight ache in the car was now a full-blown migraine.

He'd hoped to talk with Rebecca and then go find a place to crash for the night—start interviews with everyone else tomorrow. He didn't feel right. Being here was doing something strange and he needed time to acclimate. Too late for that, though.

Sam knocked on the door and they stood silently waiting—Sam bobbing from foot to foot. The door swung open and his brother disappeared into a bear hug.

"Saam," Rebecca sang, "So good to see you!" Looking over at Dean, she smiled. "Hey, Dean."

Dean stuck his hands in his pockets, dipped his head in greeting. He knew no such warmth was waiting for him. He wondered if she thought about what _it_ had done when she looked at him.

"Come on in, guys," she said as she stepped to the side. "Gang's all here."

Dean hung back as a tall, black-haired kid strode across the room and enveloped Sam, giving him a hearty clap on the back.

"Sam Winchester," he said, "good to see ya, man." The kid's face was open and wore emotions like road signs, reminding Dean of Sam before—_everything_.

"Hey Aaron, you too," Sam returned, slapping the slightly shorter kid on the back in kind.

"It's been too long," Aaron commented. He stepped back, threw a nervous glance at Dean.

"Yeah," Sam agreed and then angled toward Dean. "This is my brother, Dean. Dean, this is Aaron Reed."

Aaron put his hand out in greeting, his face losing none of the wariness. "Good to finally meet you, Dean."

Dean wished the kid would stop looking at him like he might eat him right then and there. "You must be the famous prank-boy that kept my brother from burning pure estrogen while I was away."

Aaron looked confused for a second, then laughed high and loud through his nose. "Oh, yeah, that. Well, the best part of the whole thing was actually Sam's idea."

Smirking, Dean jerked his head in a nod. "He learned it from the best."

Sam's eyes rolled but his grin stayed put.

"So," came a loud voice from behind them, "this is the infamous Dean Winchester—Sam's older brother."

Lori's words echoed, but held none of the warm regard. Dean turned to find a stocky, bull of a boy coming up behind him. Full of swagger, this one. Dean cocked his head back, lowered his brows and lifted one corner of his mouth in a half-smirk.

"Chris." Sam's shoulder brushed against Dean's as he came up beside him. A reminder to behave.

Chris's face broke into a grin as he held out hand to Sam, brushing Dean off like a speck of leftover lunch on his shirt. "Sam, good to see ya, man. You've been missed around here." Chris pulled Sam into a quick chest-bump-slap-on-the-back greeting.

"You just miss having someone to help you with your homework," Sam laughed.

Chris screwed up his face. "You wound me, Winchester. I'll have you know I made the second highest score in my Statistics class."

Nodding, Sam quipped, "Well, Becky always was a great tutor."

"Ass," Chris chuffed, slapping at Sam as he moved past the group and flopped into an overstuffed chair in the living area, propping his feet on the coffee table. His eyes wandered back to Dean, challenging. Dean wasn't sure what he'd done to piss this guy off, but it was freakin' annoying as hell. Dean grit his jaw, then purposely set his eyes anywhere else.

"Would you guys like a beer?" Rebecca asked.

"No, thanks."

"Yes, that'd be awesome."

Sam glowered at Dean after Rebecca left the room.

Dean shrugged. "Hey, it was a long ride. I'm thirsty."

Rebecca was back with a longneck before Sam's bitch-face turned into more words. Dean was glad. He really wasn't up to it. He accepted the beer with a grateful smile, happy for the distraction—or the focus—he wasn't sure. Just needed something for his hands to do.

"Thanks." He grinned. Surprisingly, Rebecca smiled back, meeting his eyes without any hint of fear or disgust. _Huh._

Taking a pull from the bottle, he moved to stand by the window, his back to the group sitting behind him. He figured Sam deserved a minute to catch up with his friends before they got down to business.

Warm sunshine streamed through the open window, washed over him and fought the growing chill inside. He closed his eyes; let it soak into his skin, into his bones. It felt good. He rubbed at the invisible spike blazing a fiery path through his brain. It was causing waves of nausea when he moved his head too fast or changed position. It helped to keep his eyes closed and he desperately wished he could lie down somewhere and sleep it off. He wondered how much longer this was going to take and hoped Sam wouldn't push to visit the scenes of crime right away.

"So," he heard Sam say, visualizing the moue of Sam's lips in his mind's eye. His brother was ready to get down to business but unsure of how to start...hesitant to mix the two lives he'd lived and fought to keep separate. "Tell me what's been going on."

Silence.

The room itself seemed to take a breath. Dean turned to look at their faces, big brother instinct flooded through him like adrenaline. For Sam's sake, he sure hoped the warm greetings were sincere, that these "good people" wouldn't leave his brother rejected and disappointed.

Rebecca studied her hands twisted on her lap, almost looking as if it hurt to have to say the words to Sam. Aaron was watching Sam with curiosity, but also with compassion and sympathy. Chris…Chris was looking back at Dean. His eyes gleamed, dark and judging. Surprised, but not, Dean ignored the pointed glare and moved to stand behind Sam. He often found himself on the receiving end of blame whether he knew the offense or not.

"Well," began Rebecca, "It started at the beginning of November. I was the first one to see her."

Sam licked his lips. "You mean Jess?"

"Yeah. It was the one year anniversary of—well, you know…"

Sam nodded, a muscle in his jaw ticking, throat bulging as he swallowed.

"…and I was having a hard time with it. I remember standing outside that night, just looking up at the window of the apartment. And there she was, dressed in white. She was looking down at me, her mouth moving, hands pounding on the glass, but there was no sound."

Rebecca stopped on hiccup of a sob, pressed a hand to her lips. Sam reached out and squeezed her knee, his own profile rigid and pinched. Dean looked away, didn't want to watch what this was doing to Sam. Didn't want to be _here_.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." She smiled through her tears. "I know this is hard for you, too."

"It's okay. Don't apologize." Sam paused. Regaining his composure, he continued, "What did you do next?"

"Well, I freaked. I ran up to the apartment and started banging on the door. No one answered, so I got the super to come up and unlock it, but no one was there. The apartment was empty. I finally convinced myself that I was seeing things," she laughed, "that I was just emotional."

Dean came around the couch, hooked a hip on the end of it next to Sam and handed Rebecca a tissue he'd snagged from the snack bar countertop behind them.

"Thanks," she said, not looking up. "Later that week there was an ambulance parked outside when I got back from class. The girl who had been living in your old apartment had been attacked. She wasn't hurt bad, but she was completely hysterical. I wanted to talk to her about what I had seen, but she was gone before I could. Went back to Virginia as soon as they released her from the hospital."

Reaching into his pocket, Sam pulled out his notebook and pen. "Do you remember her name?"

"Cathy. Cathy Simms."

"Okay, go on," Sam said when he'd finished jotting down the girl's name.

"Then Ann, my roommate, and I started noticing weird things—moving shadows out of the corner of our eyes, dresser drawers left open when they shouldn't have been, sudden drops in temperature. It really started to freak us out. A couple of weeks later, Ann woke up in the middle of the night screaming bloody murder. Said someone had been in bed with her, she had felt breath on her face. When she screamed, she saw a shadow move off the bed and walk right through her closed door. She moved out that night."

"Did you see it?" Dean asked, leaning forward to rest his forearm on his thigh—caught the eye roll from Chris as he did.

"No. No…but I've heard it."

Dean's eyebrows shot up. "You _heard_ it?"

Rebecca nodded, her eyes flicking nervously to Aaron's and then to Dean's. "The night the first tenant died. Aaron knew I was scared, so he's been staying with me. We'd gone out for a late dinner and come back." She got up and walked across the room, hands tugging nervously at her blouse.

"Aaron was showering, but I had gone back to the car to get my purse. When I entered the downstairs hallway, I heard a scream…it was li-like nothing I'd ever heard before. No way a human sounds like that." She brought her hands up to her chest. "Scared the crap right out of me. I ran all the way back to my apartment. We found out the next day that the man living in 15A had been murdered. Ripped to shreds."

Sam passed Dean a look and then asked, "Did you know him?"

"No," she shrugged. "I don't think he'd been living here long."

"You said on the phone that there's been more than one death…"

"Yeah, three total."

"Did you know any of them?" Sam held his pen poised above the notepad.

"Not really. I mean, I've talked to the girl killed last week, but I didn't really know her. I don't think I even knew her name."

Rebecca pushed her hair behind her ears. Aaron got up and stood behind her, hands coming to rest on her shoulders. _More going on there than friendship and study dates_, Dean thought. He pursed his lips, then asked, "Did all of them live here, in these apartments?"

"The first two, yes. But the last one, the old man, he was just out walking his dog in the alley."

"But all the deaths have occurred in this area?" Dean persisted.

"Yes, as far as I know."

Sam shifted to sit on the edge of the couch. "Any reason to suspect Jess? Other than, you know, having seen her?"

Before Rebecca could answer, a loud knock came at the door. Aaron let his hands fall from Rebecca's shoulders as she turned to answer it.

"So, this is really what you do?" Aaron asked Sam, casual and conversational. Maybe a way to fill the void after Sam's uncomfortable question. "Bec said it's like your job or something."

Dean felt Sam tense beside him, but his brother nodded. "Yeah, you could say that. Except, we don't get paid." He grinned a little.

"Dude, that is _so_ cool. Why didn't you ever say anything?" Aaron's eyes held no sign of reproach or fear, just eagerness and maybe a little hero worship.

Chris scoffed, turned his head to look out the window where Dean had stood earlier.

Raised voices interrupted them as Rebecca ushered in a harried-looking kid who was obviously upset.

"Nathan. Calm down and tell me what happened," Rebecca was saying.

Nathan shifted from foot to foot, rubbed at his neck as he tried to reign in his excitability. "She's dead. Julia's dead." His voice cracked and Dean could see from his red-rimmed eyes that the kid had been crying.

Sam looked away, dropped his gaze to the floor and hunched his shoulders forward. Whether it was a reaction to the kid himself or the news, Dean couldn't tell. Dean laid a hand on his stomach, feeling it roil in reaction to the pain and pressure building steadily in his head. The room had begun a slow spin and it was becoming increasingly difficult to follow the conversations around him.

"How? When?" Rebecca asked, fingers twisting her necklace, face in shock.

Wiping the back of his hand under his nose, Nathan sniffed. "I'm not sure. I just found out, it was on the radio."

"Oh, Nathan. I'm so sorry." Rebecca touched his arm. "Come, sit down."

As he let Rebecca pull him forward, Nathan seemed to realize with surprise that there was a room full of people. His eyes skimmed quickly over Dean and then rested on Sam, an odd expression pulling at his face.

"Sam?" he asked.

Sam's head came up, a polite, if sad, smile in place. "Hey, Nathan. Good to see you again." Sam stood and grasped Nathan's arm in greeting. "How've you been?" voice soft, cautious, as if he thought speaking too loud might break the boy.

Nathan laughed, "Not so good, actually. Seems to be the story of my life, huh? You look good, though."

"Yeah. Sorry to hear about your friend. Were you…was she…"

"Naw," Nathan interrupted. "Julia was my study partner. I was helping her with her LSATs and she was helping me with my thesis paper, correcting and all that stuff I suck at. She was a good kid…it just doesn't seem possible—"

"Well, no worries, Nathan," Chris burst in. "Sam and his brother are here to save us from the things that go bump in the night." He turned to pierce Dean with a smug look, "Right, Dean?"

Dean sat back, eyes snapping at the undertone in Chris's voice. He opened his mouth to say something, but a sharp jab from Sam's elbow staved off the words. Chris chuckled.

"Nathan, I'd like you to meet my brother, Dean," Sam introduced, voice strained. "Dean this is Nathan. He's an even bigger college-geek boy than me." Sam's eyes pled with Dean to drop it and make nice.

Dean smiled and stuck out his hand, lips twisting with mock sympathy, "I'm sorry to hear that."

Nathan self-consciously wiped his hand on his jeans before taking Dean's. "It's okay. It could be worse. I could be at the mercy of everyone else, needing intensive tutoring to keep my grades up."

Nathan's eyes flicked to Chris's, his message pointed.

"Look, _little_ man—" Chris began, banging his booted feet to the floor.

"Sam and Dean are here to help us," Rebecca interrupted loudly, obviously used to diffusing these kinds of things. "You got here just in time to back me up."

"Back you up?" Sam brows pinched together.

"Yeah. Nathan saw Jess, too."

Sam jerked at his dead girlfriend's name. Some of his façade slipped. Only noticeable if you were a big brother used to deciphering such things. Dean's chest thumped hard. He wanted to take Sam and run like hell. What were they even doing here?

Chris jumped up. "Look, neither one of you _saw_ her. It was just your mind's way of dealing with your grief." Twisting toward Sam, he continued, "Look, Sam, I'm sorry, but I just don't buy any of this. You're my friend and I trust that you believe whatever cock-n-bull story your brother's been feeding you, but this has to stop. It's not right and _they_ should know better than to put you through this." His finger jabbed the air in Dean's direction. "_He_ should know better."

"Chris, stop it," Rebecca commanded sternly.

"He's right." Dean's simple statement drew five pairs of eyes. "I never should've let you come. I can handle it and you don't need to be part of this."

"Dude, don't start. We've already talked about…" Sam began, but whatever came after was lost to Dean. Distant whispers roared inside his head, became a rush of words that tangled and deafened.

Breaking into a sweat, Dean stood, stopping when the room pitched sideways.

Sam's hand was at his elbow in an instant.

"Dean?" The slow rush of noise eased up and he heard Sam's muffled call, ears still feeling full, stuffed. He realized Sam must've also stood, because he was now in front of him, bending to peer into Dean's face. Framed in dancing sparks of light, he could see Sam's worried expression floating too close. He wondered how many times Sam had called him.

Bringing up a shaky hand, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm fine."

"No, you're not. You're white as a sheet…and you're sweating."

Sam pressed him into the couch with one hand. A grizzly batting at a butterfly.

"Dude, hands," Dean protested, feeling crowded…like the room was pressing in on him. Too many people, too much happening. His chest constricted and that so wasn't good. He recognized the familiar heaviness and focused all his concentration on breathing steady lungfuls of air—but that quickly deteriorated into a string of gasping coughs. _Damn lungs. Damn weakness_. He thought of the inhaler in his pocket, but didn't dare. Not here, not in front of all these people—not in front of _Sam_.

"Use the inhaler, Dean," Sam whispered close to his ear. His brother was bent in front of him, hands on his arms.

"He okay?" someone asked.

_That's it_, Dean thought. _Enough is enough_. Using the last of his strength, he pushed off the couch and past Sam, stumbling a little. "I said I was fi—" And it pissed him off that his gasping lungs wouldn't let him finish the sentence. Grabbing onto the nearby table would totally undermine his words, but it was that or look foolish face-planting into Rebecca's plush carpet.

Sam braced his shoulders and kept him from taking the table down with him.

"Bec," Dean heard his brother say, "reach into his left pocket and get his inhaler."

Dean felt the brush of hands digging in his coat pocket and then saw the hated object resting in a delicate, well-manicured hand. Felt the other small hand resting on his upper arm.

_God, this is embarrassing_. A tide of anger tightened his hands into stubborn, white-knuckled fists. He didn't _want_ it, but…

Each cough increased the pressure behind his eyes, sending shooting colors of light across his vision and he knew he had no choice but to use the damn thing. His brother supported him with hands at his back and elbow while he inhaled the medicine from the small blue bottle. Once he had himself back in control, he shook off Sam and Rebecca's help.

"I'm all right," he groused, anger at himself spilling into his tone and manner.

"Dean," Rebecca said, eyes wide and voice low with concern, "your nose is bleeding."

And he was surprised to feel the warmth on his lips. He lifted a hand to dab at it.

"_Damn_," he muttered, glaring at his red-slicked fingers as if they had betrayed him. Cupping a hand under his nose, Dean asked, "Bathroom?"

He felt Sam reach for him again as Rebecca led them to her bathroom. "I think I can walk by myself, Sam."

His brother didn't let go. "You sure 'bout that?" Sam hissed. "What's going on with you, anyway?"

Rebecca flipped on the light and reached under the sink, fishing out brand new box of tissues. Snatching a handful, she held them out to Dean.

"Thanks, Bec," Sam said.

"Sure. No problem. Is he going to be okay?"

Dean hated being discussed as if he weren't right there.

"I'm fine!" he snapped, then stuffed the wad of paper under his nose.

After she left, Sam asked again, "What's going on, Dean?"

Dean put the toilet lid down and sat with his head propped back.

"Man, I don't know. Something's not right," Dean mumbled around tissue and hand.

Sam titled his head back, confused by the statement…wary. "What do you mean?"

"I don't know. Just…" Dean's free hand waved in the air. "I don't know." He wasn't sure how much to reveal. Looking into his little brother's worried face; he knew he couldn't tell him the truth. "Just tired, I guess."

"Just tired." Sam put his hands on his hips. "Since when do you get a nose bleed because you're just tired? You nearly passed out back there!"

"Oh, c'mon, Sam! I did _not_ almost pass out. And in case you haven't noticed, I've had my share of nose bleeds lately."

"But you weren't asleep. You weren't dreaming this time. This is new. You looked like you were two seconds from a nosedive…and that was before all the coughing and wheezing. Which you haven't done in weeks."

Sam ran a hand through his hair, face wrinkled with disbelief.

Dean lowered his head, shaking it. Pulled the red-stained tissues away and replaced them with a new bunch. He spoke as he tipped his head back again. "I'm just tired. It's nothing to get your panties in a twist over, Florence."

"Dean. You know," Sam protested, his voice squeaking in that way it did when he was beyond exasperation, "I almost lost you recently—_twice_. I think I'm due a little panty twisting."

Dean took the hit, felt the sharp sting of guilt and pushed it down. He pitched the ball of blood and tissues in the trash, refusing to make eye contact. "Yeah, I know."

He said it quiet, wasn't quite sure he intended for Sam to hear it, but knew he had. Whatever Sam had expected him to say, that wasn't it. His little brother's jaw clicked shut on the automatic rebuttal. Sam blinked and looked away.

"Look, Sam. It's been a long drive. I just need to crash for a while." Dean looked up, letting Sam see how much he needed this. "Can we just go? We can finish the interviews later."

A moment passed and Sam looked like he wanted to say more. He finally relented, nodding his head. "Yeah. Okay." Sam held his hand out. An offer of help and a truce.

* * *

Maybe he'd pushed Dean too hard. Maybe that's all this was. After Dean rested, maybe had some food, he'd be fine, just like he said. Even when Dean faltered in the bathroom doorway, was forced to cling there a minute, Sam kept telling himself it was just fatigue.

Dean still recovering. He really needed for that to be all it was. He couldn't let this go and he needed Dean's help if he was going to get through this.

Everyone looked up when they entered the main room. Most with concern, some with curiosity. Dean ducked his head, stuffing his hands deep into his pockets. Sam had never seen his brother's ears so red. Couldn't believe Dean's pride trumped his well-being so completely.

"I think we're gonna head out." Sam heard himself saying, voice light, denying any need for further worry. _Nothing to see here, folks. Move along now_.

"Everything okay?" Aaron asked, coming up to them.

Sam turned to Dean standing slightly off to the side and behind him, then back to Aaron. "Yeah—just a little tired. We drove all day and night to get here."

Rebecca joined them. "Are you sure? Is there anything we can do?"

"I'm fine, thanks." Dean sounded annoyed at all the fussing.

_Stubborn ass_.

Rebecca nodded. "Well, okay. If you're feeling up to it, both of you are welcome to come back later tonight for dinner. We're ordering out for pizza."

Sam saw Dean's chest hitching in his peripheral vision, knew he was having trouble breathing again and that he needed to get him out of there. Accepting the dinner invitation might actually be the quicker play.

"Sure, yeah. Pizza it is."

"Great," she smiled and moved with them toward the door.

Nathan stood, jerking his head in a backwards nod, "Catch ya, later."

"Yeah." Sam stuck his hand out to include the room and followed Dean out the door, Aaron on his heels.

"I'm gonna head out, too. Mind if I walk with you?" Aaron asked.

"Not at all."

As they walked, Dean took the lead, hot and bothered to get out of there ASAP, while Sam and Aaron held back a few paces behind, chatting casually. Seeing Dean take sure strides, Sam let their distance lengthen until his brother was out of earshot. His instincts told him Aaron had something on his mind. Pushing open the double glass doors, Aaron nodded in Dean's direction, "He okay? That was pretty intense."

Sam stopped just short of stepping off the sidewalk, eyes on Dean for a few silent minutes. He blew out a heavy sigh. "I wish I knew. He's not exactly the sharing and caring type, you know?"

"Yeah," Aaron agreed. "How does he, you know, fight ghosts and shapeshifters with asthma?"

And wasn't this just surreal? He never imagined he'd be having a conversation like this with any of his Stanford friends. It was like they were discussing the weather or who was the best professor to take for Ethics. Still, Aaron might be taking this all in stride, but Sam didn't feel like getting into the whole yellow-eyed demon business. So he kept to the basics.

"He doesn't have asthma. We were in a car accident about two months ago and…" Sam paused to swallow the memory of Dean hooked up to the ventilator, tubes and more tubes running from his mouth, nose and veins. "It was bad. He was in a coma. Head injury, collapsed lungs. The doctors said he had Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome because of the injuries to his lungs and…apparently, it takes a while to get over."

Sam huffed a sigh, staring down at the cement sidewalk. "It doesn't help that he had a bad setback a few weeks ago. Ended up back in the hospital with two prescripts for inhalers he hardly uses."

"I'm sorry."

The sincere words tugged at Sam in all the right places. He blinked and looked away, scanning for his brother again, watched as Dean slid into the passenger seat of the Impala. Something about that so wrong it made Sam want to punch something.

Shrugging, Sam said, "Not your fault, no reason to be sorry."

"Yeah, but you obviously have your hands full. Last thing you needed was this mess." Aaron stared down the road at the car, too. "I don't know how you're doing it, man. Coming back here, keeping it together with all that's happening."

Sam couldn't help it if the laugh that preceded the words was a little maniacal. "Welcome to the life of a Winchester."

Aaron seemed to take that and chew it over. Slipping his thumbs in his pockets, Sam squinted into the horizon. Knew the sky seemed bluer here because of the stretch of ocean a little ways beyond the buildings and busy people.

"So, you grew up doing this?" Aaron asked. Hesitant, not wanting to pry.

"Yeah." Sam nodded. "Dad started when our mom was killed—became obsessed with finding the thing that killed her."

Kicking at the sidewalk with his sneaker, Aaron pivoted toward Sam a little. "Must've been tough. How did he manage to raise you and your brother and do this?"

Scoffing, Sam blurt, "_He_ didn't. Dean did. Dad parked us in some crap motel, stayed long enough to stock up some supplies, clean his weapons and do a little research. Then he was gone. Dean raised himself, raised me. Even took care of Dad when he was around."

Sam could feel his friend's steady gaze boring into the side of his face. Wondered what he was thinking. How he would react if their positions were reversed?

"You never had a real home?"

"Nope. The Impala is about as close to home as it gets for us."

Aaron shook his head. "God, Sam. How did you ever manage to keep up in school? I mean, I know you're a freakin' genius, but still."

Sam shifted his weight to his heels and shrugged. "Dean. He made sure my life was as close to normal as it could get. I didn't even know what Dad really did until I was eight. And, even then, Dean tried to protect me."

Aaron nodded again, eyes cutting to the Impala then to the ground. "Look…I just wanted you to know that I do understand why you never talked about any of this." He laughed and looked at Sam nervously. "I mean, I sure as hell wouldn't have."

Sam's lips stretched into a weak smile and he chuckled.

Aaron sobered. "When Rebecca told us what you did for her and Zach, when all this," he gestured at the building behind them, "started happening, I didn't know what to believe at first. But she believes and that's enough for me. I trust her and I trust you. But, Sam, I know coming back here, possibly having to…well—"

Aaron stopped. "I get why you've never come back and if you need anything…_anything_ at all…to talk or whatever…"

His friend's voice trailed off and they broke eye contact, turning their heads with breathy laughs. Aaron punched Sam's shoulder and Sam slapped Aaron's back, both grinning madly. "Thanks, man."

"Anytime. Now, I really _do_ have to go." Aaron started to turn away, pausing long enough to ask, "We'll see ya at dinner?"

"Sure thing."

"Okay, good. Catch ya later."

And his friend was walking away, pulling keys out of his pocket. Sam watched after him, idiotic smile plastered on his face. _Never in a million years would I have thought that it could be that easy._

Sometimes, people could surprise you and sometimes, just every so often, it was a good thing. Sam dug into his pocket for the Impala's keys and wove his way to Dean, feeling grateful that his brother wasn't always right about everything.

TBC

* * *

**A/N #2: "Bluto" is pop culture reference to John Belushi and the movie "Animal House."**


	3. Chapter 3: Little Things

Chapter 3: Little Things

**A/N: Yes, I was very, very derelict in getting this chapter up and I heartily apologize to all of you. I had a horrible case of writer's block and a healthy, hectic schedule amongst many other very personal reasons I won't bore you with. Please, forgive the HUGE, inexcusable absence—I'm sure you probably don't have clue where we were it's been so long. Do I expect another long absence such as this? No, but life likes to throw me curveballs and I've learned never to say never—some of my issues may be ongoing for a while. However, I am very, very indebted and thankful to all of you still following along and will do my best not to let more than a month slip by at most. Hugs to you all.**

**For those who might be interested, I'm currently doing a re-write of The Wake-Up Call (first two chappies done and up) with Sodakey's generous help. Also, I just finished a vid I've been working on since February and will post it on my LJ sometime today. So, yeah. I've got things happening! I'm not just slacking—HA! I rhymed. **

**If I missed thanking anyone for their reviews for the last chapter—I'm so sorry. My inbox got a way from there for a while. I tried to dig everyone's up, but I may have missed someone…but know I do appreciate and cherish each one.**

**Huge thanks and gratitude to Sodakey, Mady Bay and Tidia for looking this chapter over for me. You all have no idea how thankful I am for your input.**

* * *

Chapter 3: Little Things

He snagged his sunglasses from the review mirror and slid them on, needing the protection from the painfully bright light glaring off the car's hood. All four windows were up, trapping the warmth of the sunrays bearing down on the black car as effectually as a brick oven. It baked his skin and pulled sweat from every pore… and yet he still felt cold, unable to prevent shiver after shiver from shaking his body. He wished Sam would hurry the hell up. He needed to get _away_ from here.

Dean watched Sam through the windshield. Watched as his brother used an elbow to push playfully at Aaron, a big grin spreading across his smooth face. Then their expressions grew solemn and Dean wondered what had been said. Suddenly both sets of eyes lifted in his direction. Sadness and concern shadowed Sam's face before he looked away again.

_He's worried,_ Dean thought. _Worried about me when he should be worrying about himself._ _Not Sam's responsibility. He needs to stay sharp, not get distracted._ Dean cursed himself and rubbed his forehead. Retreating to the car had helped lessen the full feeling in his ears, but had eased the headache only marginally.

At least out here he could _breathe_.

He scrunched down in the seat, leaning his head on the back of the seat and closed his eyes. _The sun feels good_, he thought even as his clothes grew damp with sweat. He listened as someone somewhere slammed a door shut. A particularly happy bird chirped to his left, sounds of wind chimes bouncing off one another in the breeze took over where the bird left off. In the distance, he could hear rush hour traffic. The baritone growl of a semi, the high buzz of a motorcycle and the whoosh-whoosh of car after car speeding by on the busy streets. He relaxed, felt himself beginning to float as the soothing sounds eased the coil of tension within.

"Dean." A soft whisper of wind and nothing more…his imagination getting actively creative with his ears.

"Dean."

The voice sounded so…scared. Scared and _female_. This time he froze, eyes still shut, ears straining to filter the background noise.

"De—"

A heavy weight clamped onto his shoulder, startling him upright. He reacted with a loud grunt.

"Whoa, dude!" Sam's surprised face sharpened in front of him. "Take it easy. It's just me." Sam was sitting behind the Impala's wheel, looking like maybe he'd been there a minute or two, his jaw ticking tight.

_How did he get in the car without me knowing?_

Dean rubbed a palm over his face, buried whatever expression he'd been wearing, dreaded—no, loathed—the coming words even as they dropped from Sam's lips.

"You okay?"

He slid his eyes to Sam's and then quickly away. "Yeah. Must've nodded off."

Sam tilted his head back and Dean could feel his brother's x-ray vision probing every inch. _Oh, Gawd_. "Dude, I'm fine. Can we please just go?"

Sam didn't answer right away, just kept squinting at him with suspicion. Finally, his brother twisted the keys in the ignition with a sigh.

"Yeah, sure, Dean."

The ride to the motel was tense, setting Dean on edge even more. It was taking more concentration than he presently had to walk this tightrope between his brother's worry and his own need to be _all right_. Sam's angled jaw flexed. His fingers gripped the steering wheel as if he were trying to strangle it—letting Dean know in all his little ways that he wasn't convinced nor was he letting this go.

_Probably biding his time, building his case and going over every piece of evidence_, Dean thought_. It's a wonder he doesn't strain something. _

Sam pulled up to the manager's office and cut the engine. He continued to sit frozen behind the wheel, face torn, seemingly trying to make up his mind on a course of action. Finally, Sam shook his head and blew out another long sigh.

Turning toward Dean he asked, "After we get checked in, you want to go find something to eat?"

_Was it a peace offering or another sign of concern?_

"Naw. I think I'm just gonna crash for a while. Maybe after?"

Sam opened his mouth, then paused. Taking another stab at it, he asked, "You know, we haven't had anything to eat since we left Missouri's yesterday."

Dean rolled his eyes over to his brother's. "Look, if you're hungry, go without me." Sam's face tightened. Dean groaned inwardly. He didn't want to fight. He didn't want to worry Sam more. He softened his voice and offered, "How 'bout you bring something back for me. Okay?" He added with it his most confident smirk, did his best to look reassuring—to look _well_—to help Sam see whatever Sam needed to see.

Sam pressed his lips together. He blinked then rubbed a finger over his brow. He didn't say anything else, just shoved the door open and disappeared into the motel office.

WCAWCAWCA

"I need a room with two beds," Sam said, slapping their fake credit card down.

The kid behind the counter barely looked up from his Playstation Portable, held up one finger indicating the need for another minute to score the winning point. Sam stared pointedly at his profile, but seeing the hint go unnoticed, turned to check on Dean. His brother was rubbing at his temple again, a wince plain on his face.

He'd have pushed the issue, but Dean's Oscar worthy performance intended to reassure Sam he was 'fine, just tired' made it difficult. Dean might have sold it had it not been for the paleness of his features and the strange expression in his eyes. And that expression was the thing. That look. Sam couldn't place it, wasn't sure what it meant and it had shut him up better than any spoken words could have.

"Dude."

Sam turned around to find the shaggy, black-haired boy jabbing room keys at him, credit card already slid back across the counter.

"Thanks."

Sam took the keys and the card. He looked at the engraved numbers on the keychain—room twenty-seven, other end of the court. That suited him fine—more privacy. Getting back in the Impala, he handed the spare to Dean and drove them to their room.

When they got there, Sam didn't miss a thing, not the way Dean stood blinking a few seconds after he'd exited the car, the slight sway he quickly compensated for…or how he'd white-knuckle-gripped the lip of the trunk as he'd hauled out his duffels. Sam stepped forward, stretched his hand and started to open his mouth, but his brother's face was granite, immoveable and set against it.

_Fine, asshole. Get your own bags then. _

Sam huffed loudly, then jerked his own bags out of the trunk and followed Dean into the room.

Dean slumped onto the nearest bed as soon as they entered the room, falling back with a weary sigh, leaving his bags abandoned on the floor.

Toeing off his unlaced boots, he spared a glance at Sam. "You look like you could use some shuteye yourself. You did drive through most of the night. Get some rest, Sam."

_Guilt. Always with the guilt, eh, Dean? It's okay to lean on me once in a while. Jerk._

"Maybe later. I want to check into a few things, maybe grab some food. What sounds good?" And maybe he was wearing his pinched up bitch-face, but Dean had that effect on him.

Dean waved a dismissive hand at him and scooted up into the bed, coat still firmly in place. "Whatever sounds good to you, dude. The usual."

"Double bacon cheeseburger and chili cheese fries, then?"

Did Dean actually turn green? Sam saw his brother's forced swallow and inched closer to the trashcan.

"Uh," Dean choked out, "skip the chili and cheese…and make it a single."

To Sam's astonishment, Dean climbed under the covers…fully dressed. The California weather wasn't exceedingly hot this time of year, but today was unseasonably humid and the air conditioning in the room was off. To say the room was stuffy was an understatement.

Sam must've made a noise because Dean looked up, a question forming in the lines of his face before it sounded on his lips. "What?"

"Dude, aren't you _hot_?"

"No," Dean said with a shrug. He looked around then nodded at the air conditioner. "Turn on the AC if you want."

"You've got your coat on AND you're under the covers." _You didn't even make a joke at my expense. No 'Sam, don't be a baby' or 'Aw, princess might break a sweat.'_

Either Dean didn't hear him or he was studiously ignoring him. He flipped onto his side and burrowed into his pillow, leaving Sam standing dumbstruck.

Sam's long legs took him to Dean's side in a few strides. He pressed the back of his hand to his brother's forehead, ready when Dean instinctively batted at it, eyes popping open—startled, annoyed.

"What the hell, Sam?! I said I was fine didn't I?"

And he was. No blazing fevered brow like Sam had expected. Dean's skin was cool—damp with sweat—but cool nonetheless. Actually, if anything, he was a little too cool given the collecting moisture on his brow and how tightly bundled he was.

_Weird_.

"Sorry, just—"

"Just, what?" Dean's brows pulled down, eyes heavy with the promise of sleep.

"Nothing. Just…get some rest."

Dean's face softened with practiced big brother patience. "Yeah, you, too." He closed his eyes and settled deeper into the bed and blankets.

After a minute or so, Dean cracked open one eye. "Dude. Can't sleep with you hovering."

"Right, yeah. Sorry."

Sam moved away and dug out his laptop. Before he could relax, he needed to research. He wanted to check into the local folklore, see if maybe something else could be causing the recent deaths. Something—_anything_—that wasn't his dead girlfriend.

WCAWCAWCA

Two hangnails and three trips to the bathroom later, Sam was losing hope. Nothing supernatural had been reported in the general vicinity of the apartment complex, no horrific, newsworthy tragedies—nothing. He just couldn't believe that Jess would…that she could…

Sam pinched the bridge of his nose and fought off a yawn. He needed a break, maybe another quick jaunt across the street to the Stop and Go for more coffee. He pushed his chair back, gathered up the wrappers from his meager lunch of gas station burrito with a side of potato wedges, and dumped the greasy paper sacks in the trash.

He paused by Dean's bed. His brother's lunch had long since gone cold, he'd slept straight through most of the afternoon and seemed to have no intention of waking soon. The sleep had been restless, active in a way that made him doubt Dean was getting much benefit from it. Even now, his brother was mumbling and shifting beneath the covers and pillows he'd amassed like a shield.

_What's going on with you?_ Sam thought as he watched Dean struggle in his sleep. _Is Jess there with you or is this just a dream?_

Sam sunk to the edge of his own bed and listened, tried to pick out words intermingled with nonsense sounds. Dean rolled to his side, facing Sam, and curled his hand into his chest. Brows pulled down sharply, lips twisting.

"Don't worry, Sam."

The words came out a sleep-slurred whisper, barely audible. Sam shook his head and leaned forward on his knees. He waited for more to come. When it didn't, he planted one of his hands in his hair and closed his eyes for a second. Could Dean sense his thoughts or was this big-brother knowing?

_How can I not worry, Dean? You almost died—twice. And, if you could see yourself now, see how bad you look… you'd worry, too. Hell, you'd probably drag me to every doctor known to man—and some not—demanding they fix me. _

Sam opened his eyes and watched Dean pull unsteady breaths in and out.

_Every time you struggle to catch your breath, every headache and nosebleed makes me wonder what we could've missed. What might the doctors have missed? And now…_

Sam suddenly felt…_worn_, exhausted to the core. The bed was a magnet to his weary, heavy body—the need to let go pulled him down and he found himself snuggled on his side facing Dean. Maybe he'd grab an hour's rest for himself—they had a little time before dinner at Becky's. He was out in an instant.

_He drifted at first. Wrapped in cotton, comfortable and warm like floating in a sun-heated lake on a beautiful summer day. Then he felt drawn, pulled, the motion real to him. _

_He shivered. Now he was cold, skin stinging with sharp chill, but he could not identify the source. He rubbed his arms, withdrew deeper into himself. _

"_Don't worry, Sam. I'm fine."_

_Dean? The faint words echoed in his ears, wisps that might have been nothing._

"_I won't let anything happen to you." _

"_Dean?" he heard himself call._

_Silence._

_A heavy, crushing weight pressed on his chest, constricted his breathing. He gasped, struggled to draw in more air, but found he could draw in little more than a gasp. The pressure was in his head, too, vice-like and crowding. The pain of it made him dizzy and weak. _

_He began to struggle, felt it give just a little and redoubled his efforts to come awake._

Sam's eyes snapped opened and he sucked in air, gripped the blankets beneath him with sweaty fists. His eyes bounced around, trying to get a bead on the danger. Sounds of struggle drew his attention to the right. Dean was tugging, shoving at his tangled covers, frantic.

Within seconds, his brother also blinked awake. Dean's movements were disoriented, but no longer frantic as he disentangled himself from the snarled blankets. He pushed up and perched himself on the edge of the bed, rubbed his chest in an effort to ease the wheezing rattle Sam could _hear_.

"Dea—"

Dean threw up a hand, brought Sam's words to a halt. "Just congested." He coughed hard like the therapist had taught him and then took several deep, clear breaths to show Sam he was okay.

"See? Nothing to worry about." Glancing at the clock, Dean did a double take. "You let me sleep all day?"

Sam shrugged, rubbed his eyes, was still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened — wondered what it meant, knew it had been Dean he'd felt. "Seemed like you needed it," he answered. "You sure you you're all right?"

Dean rewarded him with a disgusted glare and nothing more. Checking the time himself, Sam cursed and shot out of the bed. "We're supposed to be back at Becky's in thirty minutes."

Fidgeting indecisively between his duffel and Dean, Sam finally stopped midway. He raised his hands and gestured toward his brother. "If you don't feel—if you'd rather just stay in…we don't have to do this tonight."

Dean let his hand drop from scrubbing through his hair. "What are you talking about? Since when do we turn down free pizza?"

"Well, it's just—I mean, I _felt_ you," Sam stammered. "And you've been asleep all day, and you were wheezing—"

Cocking his head, Dean froze. "Wait, what do you mean you _felt_ me?"

"You know, while we were sleeping."

An appalled look flashed across Dean's face. He stood abruptly. Turning his back on Sam, he strode over to his duffel and yanked out clean clothes, tension making the movements clipped.

"I call the shower first," he grumbled as he pushed past Sam.

"But—"

"No, Sam." Then he slammed into the bathroom, barricading himself from further argument.

Twenty-five minutes later, Sam, also showered and dressed, plopped into the car next to Dean. He ran a quick hand through his damp hair and then double-checked himself in the mirror.

"You look fabulous, Fabio." Dean rolled his eyes. "Can we go now, or do you need more mirror time?"

Sam wrinkled his face. "What?"

"Dude, they're your friends, not Kelly Clarkson."

"I know that." Sam shrugged Dean's annoyance off. "Cranky much?"

Dean threw Sam a quick glare, shifted the car into reverse and pulled out of the parking lot. Nervous, Sam stared out the passenger window, watched the scenery blur by in grays, reds and aquas. He was unable to forget what he'd felt, what he knew Dean must be feeling, but knew his brother was less than receptive to the discussion. Thing was, it shouldn't have happened at all. Missouri had been sure her techniques would work, that Dean wouldn't be open like that without touch and willful intrusion. Obviously, that's what Dean thought it had been.

"Look, Dean," Sam turned to face his brother, "it wasn't on purpose. I swear."

Dean bent his head in a half nod, lips pursing.

"Are you sure you're okay to do this? That was pretty intense."

Dean shot him a sideways glance and gripped the wheel tighter.

_Stubborn, stubborn idiot._

"Dean," Sam prompted.

A muscle ticked in Dean's jaw as he ground out, "I thought we discussed this already."

"If you call slamming the bathroom door in my face a discussion," Sam sputtered with indignation.

Shooting Sam his best 'get out of my face' look, Dean shook his head and laughed, lip pulling up in a disbelieving smirk.

It pissed Sam off. And he knew it was done specifically for that purpose. He didn't know why he allowed it to dig under his skin, but he could feel his teeth grinding down on words he might regret. He pressed his lips tighter and looked straight ahead, unconsciously flexing his hands into fists.

_Okay, Dean. You wanna play that game, we'll play, dude. Just don't come crying to me when it all blows up in your face. _

WCAWCAWCA

Dean frowned at the plate on his lap. Truth be told, he wasn't all that hungry—even if pizza was a personal favorite. He came because there was a job to do, because Sam needed him to be there, not from any real desire to score free food. The limp, greasy slice mocked him with its pepperoni eyes. Dean sighed, picked it up and forced himself to take the first bite. He could do this, he really could. God only knew he'd done worse in the name of pretense.

Sam eased down next to him on the couch, one hand full of plate and the other full of Coke can. Nathan was sitting at the opposite end of the sofa, on Sam's other side, and Chris claimed the overstuffed recliner once again. Rebecca and Aaron shared the loveseat across from the couch. Hot girl…Lauren, Laura, no…Lori had yet to show up.

Around him, everyone chatted about school, work and other things that reinforced Dean's desire to be elsewhere. He didn't belong, stuck out like a brown Pinto in an issue of Hot Rod Magazine.

"I never would've guessed you were even interested in computer programming," Sam was saying to Chris. "Do you remember how you ribbed me about being a computer geek?"

Gesturing with a shrug, palms up, Chris laughed. "I guess after you left, I couldn't stop thinking about how sure—how confident you were about what you wanted…and I knew it wasn't the same for me." Chris plucked at his jeans, then shook his head. "Becoming a lawyer was my family's dream, not mine."

Dean felt a tug in his heart, didn't dare look at Sam as Chris's words bounced around inside his skull.

"So," Sam said thoughtfully, impressed, "how far behind graduation did that put you?"

"I graduate at the end of this year. But, hey, at least I'm graduating this year. Nathan's still got two and half years." Chris smirked at Nathan.

Nathan, face setting up like quick-dry concrete, smugly turned to Dean, saying, "See, what Chris here isn't telling you is, I'm a good two years younger than the rest of the group—well, except for Rebecca who is only a year older than me. And," he said with emphasis, "I took off a semester when my sister died."

Suddenly eyes around the room found the floor particularly interesting. It made Dean itch to ask what had happened, but before the lapse could linger, Rebecca quickly picked the loose end back up.

"Yeah," she interjected, "and I'm still a semester behind because of Zach's incarceration." Turning to rub a hand up and down the length of Aaron's spine, she went on, "But that's okay because Aaron's decided to work on his doctorate's. He can keep me company and be my study partner."

Becky beamed at Aaron who turned pink then red.

Sam turned a growing smile toward his friend. "Wow. You mean this guy, here? The one who wanted to quit half-way through freshman year?"

Aaron shrugged it off. "Well, yeah, why not? After I got my bachelors, I was able to get part-time work as a teacher in one of the local schools—so I can afford to take my time. It's great because I get the summers off and during the school year, I just schedule all of my classes in the afternoons and evenings."

"Well, good for you," Sam enthused. "I told you it'd work out."

Chris spoke quietly, but his words hushed the room. "What about you, Sam? You ever coming back to finish, pursue the American dream of family and fortune?"

Dean felt his insides freeze—his breath, his heart, his brain—they all shut down, waiting for Sam's answer.

Not quite able to make eye contact with anyone, Sam fidgeted a little as he said, "Yeah, I don't know, man. Right now, I'm just kinda taking things a day at time."

"Well, but, surely ghost busting isn't what you want to do with the rest of your life."

Dean could feel Chris's gaze land on him. Piercing, heavy, challenging.

"Why in Hell not?" Aaron burst out. "Sam's a hero. He's saving lives, workin' side by side with his brother to keep poor schmucks like us safe. I think it's cool."

"Yeah, but," Chris said, annoyance coming across in his tone and face, "he can't want that forever—it's dangerous and it can't pay well."

"Not everything is about _money_, Chris," Aaron shot back.

"Look," Becky interrupted, "Sam's a big boy and I'm sure he knows what's best for _him_ right now."

Tension made the air heavy—strained—but no one pursued the topic any further and, gradually, the friends picked back up on more neutral territory.

Dean stole a glance at Sam, wanted to see what his brother made of all this. But Sam was still pissed at him from earlier. Not that Sam's friends seemed to notice.

But Dean noticed.

He noticed how his little brother refused to look at him, held himself stiff and aloof when Sam _did _manage to take notice of him. His brother's anger always ran deep and cold where Dean's was a hot flash. Seeing Sam taking small, deliberate bites of pizza, delicately avoiding getting sauce on his face was nearly more than Dean could stand. His throat ached with snark.

_Prissy and pissed—sounds like some kind of reality show. God, what I wouldn't give to see—_

"So, Dean," Nathan leaned forward to peer around Sam, "does the cool leather jacket automatically come with the job?"

A wistful smile slowly spread across Dean's face and he could feel Sam's eyes on him as he replied, "Nah. No, this was Dad's. He, uh," Dean chuckled to himself, "he was gonna throw it out, but I told him there was no sense in wasting a perfectly good piece of leather when it was just getting comfortable."

"Where is your dad?" Chris asked, suddenly interested. "Isn't he supposed to be head ghost buster?"

Dean exchanged glances with Sam. "Well, we don't really know. We haven't heard from him in a few weeks. When Dad gets in hunting mode, he likes to lay low."

Chris slurred around a mouthful of pizza, "S'what? He can't be bothered to pick up the phone and let you know he's alive? See if you're okay?"

Picking up on the condescending vibe, Dean kept his features guarded as he answered, "Dad trusts us to take care of ourselves. He'll call when he can."

"Oh, riight. Yeah, like when Sam was in school." Chris sneered, "Sounds like a real asshole."

Dean felt Sam go rigid beside him. Whether it was worry over Dean's reaction or from a sense of familial loyalty, Dean couldn't say.

Coolly, Dean flopped his half-eaten pizza back on the plate and lifted stony eyes to meet Chris's pale blue ones. "You don't know anything about our family," he growled low and dangerously.

For the barest second, Chris looked uncertain, like maybe he was going to have the good sense to be keep his mouth shut. Then the caution was gone and he returned Dean's cool stare with a challenge.

"Dean."

Pushing off the couch, Dean heard Sam call his name again, one of his brother's large paws tugging at his forearm. He jerked roughly away, intent on getting himself away before he said things to Chris that Sam would most definitely regret.

"Finish your pizza, Sam."

Dean's nails bit into his palms, leaving little crescent shaped marks of barely controlled anger. He could feel Sam's eyes on his back as he carried his plate into the kitchen.

Dean dumped the half-eaten slice into the trash; heard Aaron say in a hushed voice, "Just because your dad's an ass doesn't make everyone else's one, Chris. I see what you're doing, but you're wrong."

Leaving his plate near the sink, Dean pushed the sliding glass door open and stepped out onto the small patio leading off the kitchen. A well-used charcoal grill took up one corner, so Dean took the only space left.

Outside, the conversation died to a muted murmur. Dean gripped the weathered railing with its chipped black paint and drew in a lungful of honeysuckle infused air. He closed his eyes and blew the breath back out. What that guy—Chris—had said about Dad…

Dean shook his head. How many times had he heard the same thing from Sam in the last few weeks?

The tentative truce between Dad and Sam grew weaker with every week that passed with no word from Dad. Dean had to admit he was getting a little worried—but he also knew how deep and silent his dad could go when he was getting hot leads. He also understood Sam's concerns, too. Having almost lost his family had left his brother shaken and jumpy. He saw it in Sam's eyes every time he looked at him with that pinched worried expression.

Dean was also beginning to wonder if maybe Sam had lost faith in Dean's ability to take care of them both. If maybe this renewed desperation to have contact with Dad was Sam's insecurity showing. Dean didn't want Sam seeing him as a burden he had to carry or feeling like he couldn't count on him when he needed him.

"Hey."

He didn't quite manage to cover the startled jump when Sam brushed up against him.

"I thought you—" Dean cleared his voice to cover the shaky first words and tried again, "I thought you were still eating?"

"Well, I did already eat five slices to your one."

Sam's smile might have been more convincing had his eyes not given everything away.

Dean shivered. The evening was still mild, but that bone-chilled feeling that permeated his clothing seemed to have nothing to do with current air temperatures. Without the full wattage of the sun, he found himself growing uncomfortably cool.

"Still cold?"

"What? No."

Sam nodded. "Okay, then why are you still wearing your coat?"

He looked down at the offending piece of evidence. Lifting his head with a huge grin, he answered, "'cause it makes me look cool. Impressed your friend, Nathan, didn't it?"

"Yeah," Sam huffed, "not hard to do, Dean."

Leaning toward Sam and nudging him with an elbow, Dean whispered conspiratorially, "Poor kid does make you look like the Fonz."

Sam squinted at Dean. "Thanks…I think."

The boys leaned casually on the railing, shoulders grazing.

"You know, Chris doesn't really mean to be…like that."

Quirking an eyebrow, Dean glanced at Sam's profile.

"Doesn't he?" he asked with a flat voice.

Sam turned toward Dean, saying, "I think he has issues with his dad—military family kind of thing. He never really talks about him, but from what he's said to me," Sam shrugged, "I take it they're barely on speaking terms."

Nodding, Dean let the conversation rest between them, allowing them to settle in companionable silence. Finally standing up, he stretched the leftover tension from his muscles.

"So, you ready to get back to business?" Snapping his fingers, eyes wide, Dean asked it without losing a beat, "Oh, and hey, is that hot girl still supposed to be coming?"

"Dean, man…" Sam shook his head, paused to rest his hands on his hips, "don't you dare hit on her. These are my friends, not some barfly wannabes."

"Sammy, Sammy, Sammy. I can't help it if my awesomeness attracts the ladies. What's an adorable guy like me to do?"

Sam looked up at the sky for help, snorting. "You're hopeless, you know that?"

Dean laughed and clapped Sam on the back. "Yeah, but you love me anyway." Then growing more serious, "Now, let's see what else your buddies can tell us, see if maybe we can get into the apartment tonight and take a look around."

Paling a little, Sam nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Dean paused, searching Sam's face. His voice quiet, gentle, he said, "Look, Sam. You don't have to go into the apartment. I've got it."

"No, no. I want to be there…I _need_ to be there."

"You sure?" Dean could see Sam become quieter, grow smaller.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Head cocking back, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and stared.

"Dude, I'm not a baby," Sam huffed, expression half way between amusement and irritation.

Dean held his brother's gaze for a long time. Assessing, contemplating, and then, finally, made his decision.

Turning to lead the way back inside, Dean muttered just loud enough to be heard, "You sure 'bout that, Sammy-bear?"

Feeling Sam's deft punch to his shoulder, he grinned and for the first time that day, he felt somewhat normal again.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4: The Scene of the Crime

**A/N: I want to thank each and every one of you for your patience in waiting so long in between chapters. It's been quite a long year and I'm grateful that you all were so understanding. **

**I tried to respond to all of the PMs and e-mails I got, but just in case I missed anyone, I wanted to thank you all for your support, good wishes and prayers—it really did help just knowing someone out there was thinking about me and my family and wishing us well. **

**Hubby is doing well. He's still off from work because his workplace won't allow him to return until he has a full release and his doctor wouldn't give him that just yet. He has an appointment for Monday to find out if he can finally go back to work. Gotta say, I have a lot of mixed feelings about it. **

**Again, for all of those who have stuck with me, I can never say how much your support has meant. Each little prod to see if I was okay or how the chapter was coming helped keep me motivated. It feels good to know that you all are still there and want to see more—all my humble gratitude! It continues to astonish me that with all the awesome choices out there, you guys still want to see what I have going on in my little brain, lol! Hope this is well worth the wait…and sorry I've been sitting on it for almost a week. I got nervous, lol. **

**I wanted to wait and post this after I got home tonight so I could post simultaneously on my LiveJournal at the same time, but I just have to get this up somewhere...so...  
**

**All my thanks to Sodakey for continuing to see this through, for all her hard work in helping me make this better…and most especially for poking me once in a while to make sure I was still working on it. It means a lot to have that support.**

**To Mady Bay and Tidia—you girls have the sharpest eyes! Thank you for those catches!

* * *

  
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Chapter 4: Scene of the Crime

Sam felt Dean shiver, the tremors bleeding into the arm and leg he had pressed against his brother's. He watched Dean bring the odd-shaped coffee mug to his lips and gulp deeply. He'd already downed two mugs over the course of their questioning and was now working on a third.

_How can he possibly be cold? _Sam thought as he shifted his sweaty body away from Dean's. _What's going on you with, man? _Sam eyed his brother covertly. Dean just didn't look right—his skin color was all wrong. Even his freckles were a figment of themselves.

_Maybe it's nothing…but what if its not? Not like he'd _tell_ you._

Sam huffed quietly to himself. _You've gotta get grip, dude. He's here; he's fine—stop treating him like a China doll. You've gotta give him some breathing room. _

A subtle rustle-crinkle pulled his attention to the other side of the room. Lori had finally shown up and polished off the last two slices of cold pizza before curling up on the only seat left—a bright orange beanbag. As Sam watched, her eyes slid slowly up and over to Dean, then darted away again.

At first, Sam had chalked the attention up to simple attraction. Dean was a girl magnet personified, and his initial meeting with Lori had been charged with sparks even Sam had felt, but as he continued to slyly observe her, he noticed tiny lines forming between her brows and a rigid set to her mouth.

She seemed…concerned.

The knot in Sam's gut tightened. He felt his fingers tingle from the tight grip he had on his long-warm Coke. Obviously, he wasn't the only one who had noticed Dean's sweaty pallor and intermittent trembles, and that twisted something in his stomach.

"Okay, well…" Dean rubbed a thumb under his nose, smearing away the dampness collecting there. "Have any of you been back to the apartment since the fire? Taken any mementos, that kind of thing?"

Guilty looks passed between Rebecca and Aaron. Lori looked down, and Nathan locked eyes on Sam. Chris continued staring out the window as if he were bored.

Sam cocked his head, puzzlement bunching his brows together.

Dean's voice rumbled next to him, "I'll take that as a yes."

"Well," Rebecca began, cleared her throat when it caught, "we sorta, kinda…held a…séance." Her shoulders slumped on the last word.

"You did what?" Dean asked, eyebrows up, then held up his hand, palm out. "No, I got it the first time." He shook his head, an incredulous smirk twisting his lips. Sam watched his knuckles whiten as he set down his cup and stood, pacing to the window. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? How incredibly stupid?"

"Dean," Sam reprimanded, also standing. "They didn't know."

"Exactly." Dean stabbed a finger at Sam. "That's what makes it so dangerous. Hell, even professionals are taking their chances with something like that." He ran a hand roughly over his hair. "I mean, for all we know, _they_ could be responsible for this whole mess!"

Both Rebecca and Aaron paled. Rebecca's hand landed at her throat, her eyes huge as saucers.

Lori leaned forward, the scrunching noise of the beanbag alerting everyone to her movement. "Wait a minute…what are you saying?"

Taking a slow step toward her, a vein throbbing in his temple, Dean enunciated slowly as if speaking to a wayward child, "I'm saying, _sweetheart_, that when you had your little chat with the dead, you could've released whatever's doing this."

Her eyes widened for a second, then flitted side to side. "Wait. That can't be…I mean," she turned toward Rebecca, "wasn't that Simms girl attacked before we held the séance?"

"Yes…yes," Rebecca drew out slowly. "And Ann had already freaked out about the shadow in her room," Rebecca continued. "Remember? That's why we decided to do it. It was a week later she moved out." Her eyes lifted to include Dean. "By the time we held the séance, things were already happening. We were convinced that if we could talk to Jess, find out if it was really her, it would help us figure out what to do next."

"Why didn't you call me sooner?" Sam asked.

Rebecca didn't answer at first, a long pause widening in the room like a canyon gulf. But Sam could see the answer in her eyes without having to hear it said. "Because of me. It was because of me, right?"

"I'm sorry, Sam. We just weren't sure if we should involve you. We knew how hard losing her was." Sadness and regret punctuated Rebecca's expression.

Sam nodded twice and blew out a breath to ease the tightening in his chest. Giving Rebecca a hesitant smile, he said, "Its okay. But I wished you'd called sooner. Any kind of supernatural contact can be dangerous. Not only can you put yourself in danger, but others as well. It's like poking a hibernating grizzly with a stick."

"How many of you were there?" Dean asked.

"Just three of us. The book said it should be done in threes and only by believers—so that only left me, Aaron and Lori."

"What book was this?" Sam asked, looking back and forth between them.

"Uh…" Rebecca looked to Aaron for help.

"Don't look at me; I was just an extra body."

Lori cleared her throat, then said, "I think it was called _Practical Color Magick_."

"Are you sure?"

She ran her lower lip through her teeth. "Yeah, I'm pretty sure."

"Do you still have it?" Sam asked.

"No," Rebecca answered. "We checked it out from the university library and took it back when we were finished.

"Do you think you could get it back?"

Rebecca nodded. "Sure. We could probably get it tomorrow. Do you think it will help?"

"Not really," Sam answered. "If you're sure you saw Jess and noticed the strange stuff before the séance, it's not likely that you did any harm. But, we have to cover all our bases." He traded a look with Dean.

Dean held out a finger as he asked, "So, did anything happen? Did it work?"

"No. Nothing happened. The candle didn't even flicker." Rebecca shrugged.

Dean nodded, eyebrows pushing up. "That's actually good news."

"So what now?" Aaron asked.

Dean sighed, rubbing a hand on his neck. "Well, I guess we check out the apartment and the other places where the victims died."

"Wait…you don't mean," Rebecca gestured between him and Sam, "_both_ of you are going back to the apartment."

Sam tried not to cringe.

"Well, yeah," Dean shrugged.

He almost bought Dean's cavalier response. Almost.

"You're kinda thick in the head, aren't ya, cowboy?" For the first time in many minutes, Chris broke his skeptical silence.

Rubbing the top of his head, Dean shrugged again. "Comes in handy in our line of work." He flashed Chris a brilliant, toothy smile.

Sam opened his mouth to intervene when he felt fingers grip his forearm. Rebecca's eyes searched his worriedly. "Do you think that's a good idea? I mean, are you okay with this?"

He set a hand over Rebecca's, squeezed it and then shook her off gently. "You worry too much. I'll be fine."

Chris stood, approached Sam's left, hands beckoning. "Look, man, can't your brother go by himself? There's no reason _you_ have to go."

In his peripheral, Sam saw Dean stick his hands in his pockets and let his head fall forward, but at the last second, his eyes flicked up from under his lashes, and their gazes caught. The sadness, the bone-weariness lining his expression caused Sam's throat to clog against the protests he'd been aiming at his friends.

After a minute, Dean seemed to come to some kind of a solution. "They're right. There's no reason I can't do this one alone, Sam. You stay at the motel and see what else you can find out."

Sam stepped forward, forcing Dean to keep eye contact. "No. I'm going." Setting his jaw to stubborn, he continued, "I _want_ to."

Dean opened his mouth, but Sam turned to Chris and said, "I've been back since…well, since the fire. It was tough, but I got through it. I appreciate the concern, but it's really not necessary." Looking back at Dean again, he said, "Besides, I don't like the idea of you going alone." And he didn't. Dean had seemed a little better since his nap, but _something_ was going on with him. The sweating, the shivering, the paleness—it wasn't just nothing.

"All right. Okay," Dean shrugged, hands still deep in his pockets. "Now that we have that settled..." He made as if to leave.

"You're going now?" Aaron asked, eyes round with excitement.

Dean smirked. "Nah. We try to keep breaking and entering limited to certain hours of the night, if you know what I mean."

"Oh." Aaron looked disappointed for a second.

Sam couldn't get past the stunning eagerness with which his old friend had accepted his shameful secret. It was discombobulating to say the least.

Walking over to a side table, Rebecca pulled the drawer open and rummaged around before turning back with a key dangling from her fingers. "No need to break and enter—I have the key." She beamed at them.

Sam saw Dean mirror his raised eyebrows.

"How did you—?" Sam began.

"I have connections," she teased. "Actually, I not only have this key—but I also have permission from the super to go in. Turns out, he's just as anxious as we are to have this solved—so I told him I was bringing in some…shall we say, _experts_. He didn't even ask questions, just handed me the key and told me to make sure we locked up afterwards. Does this mean you guys can go now?"

"Uh—" Dean started to protest.

"I don't see why not," Sam interrupted. He really just wanted to get it over with—now was as good a time as any.

"Oooh, can I come with?" Aaron was practically bouncing on his heels.

Sam looked at Dean with a barely contained grin.

"No," Dean said firmly. "Not a good idea. It's safer if you stay here."

"Oh, c'mon!" Aaron beckoned to Sam. "I promise I'll stay out of the way. You won't even know I'm there."

"Dean's right," Sam said, shaking his head. He hated to burst Aaron's bubble, but... "It really isn't safe."

"No, look, I'll stay right behind you guys. I'll do anything you tell me. Please, guys, please." Aaron's earnest face made it hard to resist.

Dean was shaking his head, but Sam could see he was starting to soften. "You know, this really isn't a good idea—like, at all."

"Pleeaase," Lori's was standing, too.

"Well, I don't care if you like it or not, I'm going," Chris said firmly.

"I thought you didn't believe any of this crap," Dean reminded him.

A smug smile stretching his lips, Chris answered, "I don't. I'm going as moral support for Sam. It's called being a good friend." The sneer was hidden behind a smile.

Throwing his hands in the air, Dean declared, "Fine. Whatever. But, no girls."

"What? That's not fair." Lori looked affronted. "Why not us? That's being sexist."

Dean looked her and grinned, "No, that's being practical. We," he gestured between him and Sam, "can't keep an eye on all four of you."

Lori's face fell, but her chin jutted a little in rebellion.

Aaron turned to Rebecca, placed a hand on both her arms. "He's right, Becs. I'd feel much better if you stayed here."

"Hey, not a problem—I've had enough supernatural contact to last me a lifetime."

"_Finally_. Someone with some sense," Dean groused as he pulled the door open and marched out without one look back.

Sam briefly turned to Nathan, who had been quiet—apparently forgotten by everyone else. "You staying here?"

Nathan cleared his throat, "Naw. No. I've got some studying to do…and it's been a long day. I think I'm gonna head out."

Sam nodded. "Yeah, I remember what that was like. Okay, catch ya later, then."

"Be careful." Nathan threw after him.

Chris and Aaron on his heels, Sam bee-lined for Dean.

~WCAWCAWCA~

Sam had only half-listened to the barrage of questions from Aaron on their way down and he'd done his best not to let the stony, disapproving silence from Chris get to him. His main focus was on catching up to Dean. Only good manners had prevented him from abandoning his friends and jogging to catch up with his storm of a brother.

Dean was already snagging and stuffing weapons and things into their green army duffle by the time Sam caught up with him. Looking at the tense lines of his brother's back, Sam began framing a defense for the two men he'd left standing at the front of the car.

Sam tugged on Dean's sleeve, kept his voice low as he implored, "Hey, relax…I doubt we find much, if anything. It should be safe enough."

Dean's eyes shifted up from under his brows and then back to the job at hand. "Should be? Better hope so, little brother. Last thing we need is amateur hour in the middle of getting our asses kicked."

"Come on, Dean."

Jerking his arm away, Dean turned and stepped up to Sam. "Since when do we involve civvies in our hunts?" Dean gestured, arms out to his side, hands full of duffle and car keys. "Huh?"

"Um, well, there was Sarah. And Cassie."

Dean straightened. Glared. Sam raised his chin into it, stared quietly back.

A moment passed between them before Dean's eyes broke away, off to the side. He cocked his head down. Shoving the keys into his coat pocket, he dug out his favorite sawed off and shoved the bag into Sam's arms.

"You're in charge of babysitting, then," Dean said, voice loud enough to carry to the others.

Aaron looked up at that, grinning conspiratorially at Sam.

"Hey man, I can take care of myself," Chris shot toward Dean's retreating back.

Dean ignored them both and strode back toward the complex, lowering his sawed off so that it was hidden by his leg.

Rounding on Sam, Chris pressed, "What's his problem? Didn't your daddy teach him how to share?"

Sam rolled his shoulders, trying to loosen the tension there and shook his head. He met Chris's defiant eyes as he said, "Give him a break, okay? He's worried, just like you. And he doesn't want to be responsible for anyone getting hurt." When Chris dropped his gaze, Sam heaved the bag over his shoulder and began walking.

"So," Aaron chimed in, hands moving in the air as he spoke, "do we need some kind of a weapon? Is there any special equipment we need, like special night vision goggles? Any tips for the amateurs?"

When Sam turned his head to look at him, he saw the big grin spreading across Aaron's face again. He smiled back and began explaining about their specially made shotgun shells and what kinds of things could be used should you lose your gun. The general ghost hunting 101 spiel.

Dean was waiting for them outside the room when they rounded the corner—tight lines around his eyes, shoulders hunched as if he were standing in a blizzard. The hairs on Sam's neck rose as he drew near and he shivered against the feeling building vaguely in the back of his head_. It's nothing, just my imagination. I haven't had any visions or dreams. It's just being back here, that's all. It's fine. _We're_ fine._

"You okay?" The words were out before he knew they were coming.

Dean grimaced, eyes flicking to the others. "Sure," he shrugged, "why wouldn't I be?"

"I don't know. Just—" Sam felt Chris and Aaron crowding behind them. Shaking his head, he continued, "No, it's nothing."

He felt Dean's gaze linger, then caught his brother's nod out of the corner of his eye. Digging out a spare shotgun and a canister of salt, he handed the gun to Chris, and, to Aaron, he handed the canister of salt.

Aaron rolled his eyes but took it, muttering, "So, if I see anything, I just throw handfuls of salt?"

Sam had already explained that they didn't have enough guns for everyone and since Chris had extensive gun handling experience where Aaron had none, he automatically got the last remaining weapon.

"Pretty much." Sam dug the key out of his pocket and stuck it in the lock, giving it a twist. Looking up from under his bangs at Dean, he whispered, "Ready?"

"Yep. Let's do it." To Aaron, Dean whispered, "Whatever you do, stay behind me."

Smiling to himself, Sam carefully hid his face and pushed in the door. To his left, he heard Chris cock his gun and to his right, peeking out from behind Dean, Aaron inhaled.

Moonlight spilled through the uncovered windows, washing the walls and abandoned furniture in pale blue. Shock reverberated through Sam. It looked nothing like he'd expected…didn't look like home, didn't telegraph thoughts of familiar things or of Jess. It had been completely renovated, just like his friends had said. New carpeting, missing walls, wallpapered designs that seemed overly feminine. It even smelled different—freesia rather than homemade cookies.

Then, a sudden flash of memory transposed over the room. Jessica, smiling sweetly as she slipped an earring into her left lobe. Soft blonde curls shifting in the light, blue eyes sparking with mischief. Sam's heart tripped, sputtered, beating sharply against his chest.

Dean shifted at his side and the vision evaporated, gone as suddenly as it came. "Sam?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm good. It's…not like I remembered." Sam stepped across the threshold, making room for the others once inside.

Eyes big, Aaron whispered from behind Dean, "The girl that lived here put a lot of money into fixing it up. Money didn't seem to be a big issue for her."

"Obviously," Dean muttered, eyebrows quirking.

Sam raised his EMF and began scanning. Signaling to Dean, Sam indicated he'd take the kitchen area and leave the bedroom for Dean. "Meet you back in the living room?"

"Dude," Dean cautioned Aaron over his shoulder.

Looking sheepish, Aaron dropped his hand from where he'd bunched it into the back of Dean's coat and rocked back on his heels.

"Sure, see ya in a few," Dean directed to Sam.

Beside him, Chris didn't look scared exactly, but the serious set of his face, the way his eyes would flick to the EMF and away made Sam wonder if his denial of the supernatural was just a front. He was obviously nervous and on guard, hand tight on his shotgun.

Sam hefted his shotgun into a better position in his hand and then, EMF in the lead, Chris close by his side, moved toward the darkened kitchen. It, too, was different in unexpected ways. New oak cabinets that still smelled faintly of lacquer, tan marble tile, stainless steel appliances. More frilly wallpaper. Nothing like _their_ plain, functional set up had been.

He had a brief vision of Jess whirling around, a pan of eggs in her hand, hair tousled and looking beautiful on a lazy Saturday morning. Jess loved cooking for him.

Beside him, Chris gestured at the EMF with the tip of his shotgun. "What's that supposed to do?"

Sam shook himself. "It's an EMF detector. It looks for disruptions in natural magnetic fields…and, hopefully, indicates the presence of paranormal events."

Chris took that in with a frown, caught somewhere between disbelief and something else Sam couldn't identify. After a while, his friend started moving around the room with Sam again.

"Did you make it?" Chris asked, voice hushed. "It looks like an old walkman."

Laughing, Sam paused in front of the sink, saying, "Yeah, that's what it was made from and, no, I didn't build it. Dean did. The one I use is like the kind used by scientists for electromagnetic radiation detection, but it broke a while back."

"Oh. Well, if that's his, what's he using?" Chris asked, looking behind him like he'd heard something, then back around again like he'd already dismissed it.

"Well…he's trying something…new," Sam tried to hedge. _Please don't ask, please don't ask, you don't want to know._

But Chris had already turned to the refrigerator, pulled open the door and was checking out the contents. "Hey, Sam. Look, they left the beer." Taking out a bottle of expensive looking brew, Chris held it up with a huge grin.

A loud crash and cut off, "SAA—!" stopped them in their tracks. It took only a second for their expressions to switch from surprise to determination and they were both sprinting toward the bedroom.

Reaching the room first, Sam was immediately struck by fiery pain, forcing him to grip onto the doorjamb for support. His brain took in several facts at once.

Aaron lay at his feet limp as a rag doll. Dean was slumped against the dresser at the foot of the bed, one arm wrapped around his middle, the other struck out in front of him as if holding something at bay, his face contorted, eyes fixed on the ceiling…

Jess flickered, white dress flowing, arms reaching toward Dean, yellow flames dancing all around her, right above the bed.

Chris crashed into Sam's back, his sharp inhale sounding loudly in Sam's ear.

…but Sam couldn't look away, couldn't speak, couldn't breath. Two different sets of pain washed over him. A past pain that would _never_ completely heal and the fresh physical pain of skin scorched by fire.

_Dean_, he thought—but couldn't take his eyes away from flickering image of Jess.

"Aaron!" Chris yelled beside him, trying to push past Sam, but Sam was a big guy and was firmly rooted where he stood. Chris worked until he managed to shove himself through the small opening between Sam and the doorway and knelt beside Aaron, levered their friend up and checked his vitals. Still supporting Aaron, Chris looked up and yelled, "Sam, snap out of it man! I need your help. Aaron's hurt!"

Finally, Chris seemed to notice Sam's face. He followed Sam's gaze to the air above the bed.

"Sam, what is it?"

"Don't you see her?" Sam answered uncertainly, swallowing down the shock, the emotion.

"Who?" Chris asked, eyes searching the room.

But the answer stuck in Sam's throat, dry and crisp, as a subtle whisper of noise began to grow into a soft chant, "Not alone, not alone, not alone, not alone…"

Dean.

His brother's lips moved over the words repeatedly, the intensity growing until his voice filled the room. Dean's hands buried into his skull as he went down on his knees with a groan. Bent in on himself, Dean continued to make pained noises as the words slipped through his clenched teeth.

"_Dean_," Sam begged, his own pain building.

Then, finally, Dean whispered roughly, "No. No. Stop."

Just like flipping a switch, the searing pain fled from Sam and, with it, the image of Jess.

He sagged in relief.

"What the _hell_?" Chris whispered, wide eyes staring at Dean in ways that made Sam feel protective.

Dean knelt, hands trembling at his head, heavy gasps of air moving his shoulders up and down. He was covered in sweat. It was as if he'd run five miles on a Texan July.

Sam quickly bent and checked Aaron's pulse, found it strong and steady, and then moved to his brother. He reached for Dean, but he flinched away, hard. Sam hesitated, surprised and bewildered. "Easy, Dean. It's okay."

Moving slowly this time, Sam gently placed one hand on each of Dean's shoulders. He winced and pulled away again, his sudden intake of breath loud in the now quiet room. It was then Sam noticed how his brother held his hands and arms out, away from himself.

"Sam," Chris hissed behind him, "we have to get Aaron to the hospital. I think his arm is broken and his head is bleeding a river."

Sam spared his friends a brief glance, could see Aaron was coming around. Sam said, "Dude, hang on. Something's wrong with Dean."

Chris's derisive snort was followed by, "Ya think?"

Sam ignored him, held his hand out. "Toss me your flashlight." When Chris stared at him liked he'd grown another head, he snapped, "Chris. Now. I think he's hurt."

Obeying, Chris patted Aaron. "You gonna be okay, man?"

Aaron nodded, cradling his arm close to his chest. Chris helped him lean against the wall and then, fumbling behind him, came up with the flashlight and walked it over to Sam.

Chris crouched down, letting his hands hang limp in between his open knees. Giving Dean a cursory once over, he said, "He looks fine, Sam. Other than, you know, the freak out and a bloody nose."

Sam ignored that, too. "Dean?"

Dean slowly met Sam's gaze, green eyes wide and uncertain.

"Let me see your hands." Sam held up the flashlight, flicking it on with his thumb.

Dean blinked, seemed a little more himself when he looked back. Holding his hands out in front of him, he let Sam shine the light on them.

"Holy shit!" Chris exclaimed.

Sam swallowed hard, blinked his own eyes to make sure he was seeing correctly. Dean's face reflected their collective shock. "They're burned," whispered Sam. And they were. The skin was bright red, white-grey patches dictating more severe damage in some areas. "God, Dean."

"But, but… how's that possible," Chris squeaked.

Dean wavered, shook his head and had to grab for Sam's arm for support, hissing sharply when his hands made contact.

"Damn it," Sam snapped, angry, unsure where to direct it. "Let's get you outta here." Then hesitating a second, said, "Can you walk?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm good," Dean nodded, struggling to find his feet.

Sam was as careful as he could be, but Dean still sucked his breath through his teeth when Sam gripped hands around his shoulders and elbow.

"Chris, can you manage Aaron on your own?"

Chris was already moving, tugging Aaron up close to his side. "Got 'im," he grunted.

Having to support Dean more than he'd like, Sam took the lead and quickly got them out. Not giving the apartment a single backwards glance.

Gasping under the weight of his friend, Chris asked, "Should I call 911?"

"No!" Sam yelled automatically. "It'll be faster if I drive. Head for our car."

"What about the girls?"

"I don't think that'll be a problem," Sam said, spotting Rebecca and Lori waiting at the end of the hallway.

Seeing them, the girls gasped, Rebecca's hands flying to cover her mouth.

Dean's knees buckled, nearly taking them both down. "Hey, c'mon, man," Sam commanded. "Stay with me. You can do this."

His brother didn't say anything, but as Sam started moving again, Dean held his own.

"What happened?" Lori jogged toward them.

Becky made a beeline for Aaron. "Is he okay? What happened? Is he okay!?"

"Bec," Sam's voice was calm, in charge, "he's gonna be okay, but we need to get them to the hospital. You and Lori follow in your car, ok?"

Nodding, she said, "Just let me get my keys." Then she was running full tilt back toward her apartment.

"I can ride with you guys, take a look at them on the—" Lori started to offer.

Sam interrupted her, saying, "I'd rather you drive Becky, make sure she gets there okay. Please."

Lori nodded and with one last look at the group, hurried to catch up to Rebecca.

Getting down the stairs was tricky and difficult at best, but they finally made it out to the car. Chris eased Aaron into the back and climbed in beside him. Sam lowered Dean into the passenger seat, fumbled in his brother's pockets until he found the keys and then ran to the driver's seat. Dean hadn't said a word since the apartment…not even while Sam had rifled through his pockets. He seemed in a daze, in and out, eyes glazing over periodically. That scared Sam.

There didn't seem to be any injuries outside the burns. But usually after connecting with Jess, he'd be more alert by now. It was as if he was having trouble severing the link completely this time.

As Sam barreled out of the parking lot, he gave Dean a sideways glance. Took in the increased pallor, the bright red patch decorating his jaw, another one on his cheek, and noted the way Dean's hands clumsily clutched his coat closer around him, face twisted with the pain of raw skin making contact with the leather.

"Hang in there. We'll be at the hospital in less than five," Sam reassured.

Dean blinked again, shook his head slowly. "Don't need a hospital. Just need to sleep it off."

Sam gaped. "What are you talking about? Have you seen your hands? Have you seen your face? God only knows what's hidden under your clothes. You have serious burns, Dean, and burns aren't something to play around with."

"No, dude, I don't even think they're that bad anymore. They're not hurting as much." Before Sam could argue, Dean called over his shoulder, concern heavy in his voice, "Aaron, buddy, you okay?"

At least Dean was seemingly more aware now even if he was being a pigheaded bastard.

"I think so," came Aaron's strained reply.

"No, he's not okay!" Chris spat. "His arm is broken, his head is bleeding, and he's in and out of consciousness." Disgust rode strong in the timbre of his voice when he continued, "You were supposed to be watching him, Winchester, keeping things like this from happening. I thought you were supposed to be _good_ at this stuff."

"Chris," Sam said sharply. "That's not helping." He shot a look at Dean's profile. His brother's throat worked as he swallowed hard, jaw muscle twitching visibly. Gentling his voice, Sam asked, "What _did_ happen?"

Dean smiled bitterly. "I screwed up. Didn't Chris just read you the newsflash?"

"Dean."

"No. I shouldn't have let him go in there, especially without a real weapon. I should have kept better control." Dean shook his head. "I don't know, it was weird. I could tell something was in there the moment we crossed the threshold. I could feel it. But… it was different."

"Different how?"

"I don't know, man. Just…_different_." Dean brought a hand up to his eyes, hissed at the contact of skin on skin, and let his hand drop back to his lap, careful of his burned flesh this time. "Look, can we talk about this later?"

Dean looked at Sam, eyes not quite pleading, but something there settled heavy and jagged in Sam's heart.

"Yeah, sure," he nodded, trying hard to keep his voice steady. Eyes back to the front, he gestured out the window, "I think that's the hospital, anyway."

Sam had made record time, the late hour making the streets less crowded and less of a cause for worry over speed limits. He skidded to halt at the emergency entrance and moved to get out. Dean stopped him and their gazes met.

"Take care of Aaron, ok. I'll wait here."

"No."

"Sam, just help your friend. He's in a lot worse shape. I'll be here when you get him taken care of."

"You're having someone look at those burns, Dean."

Dean nodded once. "Aaron first, then we'll see."

Sam watched his brother for a minute, shook his head in frustration, and rushed to help Chris get a semi-conscious Aaron out of the backseat and into the waiting care of the emergency room staff.

Left alone in the Impala, Dean let his head fall back against the seat with a heavy sigh. His face clouded and he pinched his eyes tightly shut.

"'M sorry. Don't understand whatcha want," he whispered to the air. "I promise, I won't give up. I jus' need ta rest a min'it. Just a minute…"

And, finally, he was able to let go, hand falling lax and open on the seat, head lolling to the side—all awareness blissfully and thankfully gone.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5: The Web I Spin for You

**A/N:** See all disclaimers, info, etc. in the first chapter.

I know author's notes can be pretty boring…truly, I do, but I'd appreciate it if everyone would take just a sec to read this. I'll try to keep it as short as I can.

First of all, if I missed any reviews last time, know that it wasn't because your feedback was overlooked or underappreciated. Those of you have been with me for a while know by now that I eat up your words to me as if they were the finest chocolates! I'm just a very scattered person who has to write herself a note in order to remember her own shopping list! It's never on purpose. I adore each and every single person who takes the time to read and comment. Sincerely, I do.

Secondly, I'm too ashamed to apologize for taking so long to update. I can't explain what my problem is; it's just too hard to make anyone understand who isn't in my shoes. My muse, my concentration, my available time, my health, my fears of inadequacy…it all plays a part.

But I thank you for your patience and double thank all of you who have e-mailed, PMed or in some way let me know you are there and still waiting. It blows me away each time it happens and it does help more than you know. Knowing someone WANTS me to continue and is willing to suffer through so much time in between chapters leaves me amazed and inspired to work hard.

Rest easy, I do want to tell this story—that is a wee part of the problem. I want to do my best because I love this story as it _could be_ and that messes with my head just a little. So, here I am still beating down the insecurities and continuing on!

Also, this is not a perfect chapter. I've messed with it some since it was beta'd and I've not read it through one final time as I normally would. If I keep waiting until I think it is perfect enough for you, it will be another month!!! So, whatever seems weird or doesn't work, I'm so sorry. I just wanted to get on with it finally.

Lastly, before anyone begins to read this chapter, I want to let you know there is NO planned romance between Dean and Lori. I know some of you were worried about that…and I admit, at first that's where I wanted to go with it…but since people felt so strongly against it, I've dropped that part of the story. They will be friends and nothing more. At least, not at this time, in this story. We will be back to the boys' POV next chapter!

As always, big shout out of thanks to **Sodakey** for steadfastly standing by me and keeping me going on this. For inquiring about it and for looking it over and making it better. She may never ready this note, but I hope she knows how grateful I am for her help and her interest.

Thanks also to **Tidia** for MAKING time in her busy new schedule for some added corrections. You really didn't have to, but I'm glad you did.

I always look forward to reading your comments, but, _above all_, I hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Chapter 5: The Web I Spin For You

"Wow. Sam can _drive_," Lori said, pulling into a parking space. "That was…_impressive_."

Rebecca was already unbuckling, fingers fumbling in her haste. "Yeah, I guess." Her voice trembled and broke on the last syllable.

Lori laid a hand on Rebecca's forearm. "Bec, I'm sure Aaron's okay. He looked more shook up than anything. He's gonna be fine."

Rebecca smiled gratefully. "Yeah. Yeah, I hope so."

Lori hoped so too. Becky had been wide-eyed and quiet the whole drive; too scared to talk.

As they both got out, Lori stuffed her keys in her jacket pocket. Nearing the emergency entrance, they could see the Impala parked haphazardly in front. "Looks like someone's still in the car," said Lori.

Becky squinted at the indistinct shadow. "Really? But why would…" As they got closer, they could see the person in question was slumped to the side.

Lori's heart rate sped up, her instincts kicking in. "That doesn't look good."

"It's Dean," Rebecca said. Both girls broke into a sprint.

Lori wrenched the door open and leaned in, Rebecca hovering behind her. "Dean?" Lori shook his shoulder, pinching at the muscle near the base of his neck. "Dean? Hey, can you hear me?"

There was no response save for his slow slide down the seat. Training kicking in, she checked for breath sounds and then pressed two fingers to the inside of his wrist.

Behind her, Rebecca fidgeted. "Is he okay?"

"I don't think so," Lori hedged. Dean's heart rate was sluggish and she could've sworn he'd stopped breathing for a moment. "Go get help—quick!"

"Got it." Rebecca whirled and ran into the building.

Uncertain, Lori rechecked Dean's vitals and began a _head to toe_. The only outward signs of injury she could find were minor burns on his cheeks, jaw line, and what looked like severe burns on his hands. Once again, she pressed shaky fingers into Dean's pulse. The beat felt stronger, closer to normal and his breathing seemed steadier. Patting his face, she called again, "Dean, can you hear me. Hey! Wake up for me."

Finally, his eyes rolled under their lids. His lips pressed together, thinning out in a closed-mouth moan. So softly she almost missed it, he whispered, "I promise." With another murmur that trailed off, he opened his eyes and looked at her.

"Dean?" she questioned.

With purposeful blinks, he managed to keep his eyes open.

Lori crouched into his line of sight. "Dean. Can you hear me?"

His gaze steadied on hers. This close, even in the dim lighting, the green depths of his eyes caught her. Green that went so deep she felt she could get lost just by looking. Secrets, pain, and fear commingled there. _So expressive_, she thought, _so expressive without knowing_. She shook herself, but let her hand continue to rest on the side of his neck, thumb stroking his jaw line. "Hey? You with me now?"

This time, he seemed to register her voice and struggled to sit up.

"Easy, easy does it. Not too fast. I don't want you passing out on me again." She helped him lean back against the headrest.

He blinked, looking around, awareness filling his face for the first time.

"There you are. How're you feeling?"

Dean coughed then cleared his throat, peered back at her. "Good, fine. I'm-I'm—where's Sam?" His voice was rough and uncertain.

She patted his chest, keeping him still. "He's inside. Do you know where you are?"

Dean nodded, grimaced when her light touches skimmed over his burns. "Hospital."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's right." She leaned out of the car, looking over her shoulder. "We need to get you checked out. Think you can walk in on your own?"

He grabbed her arm, then hissed, fingers spasming against her flesh. "No doctors—no hospitals. And don't tell Sam. Please, don't tell him."

She looked at the angry, burned flesh of the hand wadded in her shirtsleeve and knew how much pain that grip must be causing him. Giving him a stern look, she used her firm voice, "Dean. You're vitals weren't good when I first checked you. You were unconscious. I think Sam needs to know about that. At the very least, these burns need to be treated. You need to be checked out by a doctor."

Dean didn't let go of her arm, but his grip loosened. He swallowed hard then pushed out between his teeth, "Look, I'm not…staying in a hospital. My brother doesn't need…Sam doesn't need more to worry about—especially when it's nothing—"

"Nothing!? I hardly think—"

"You could do it."

"What? No. No, that's not a good idea."

"You're an… EMT or something like that, right?"

"A paramedic. Technically, a med student, but—"

"Perfect. You can take care of it. Otherwise, I'll just refuse medical attention. Go get the form. I'll sign it."

Lori hesitated. She'd had extensive training both as paramedic and as a current med student—she knew enough to do basic treatment. But still, it wasn't a great idea. Dean's face was pale, his vitals weren't great, and her training screamed that burns should always be taken seriously. Plus, she could _feel_ him shaking right through his clothes.

But those eyes. Those eyes pinned her straight through. She wanted to make whatever it was she saw there all right. She wanted to take it all away, whatever it was, just like she always had with her siblings. And, she believed him when he said he'd refuse treatment if she didn't meet his compromise.

"Okay," she heard herself agree. "Okay, but if I think for a second you need a doctor—"

Dean nodded, letting go of her, cradling his hand back to his chest, "I'll think about it."

"Okay." _Please, God, let this be the right thing to do._

Behind her, she heard heavy steps hitting hard on the pavement.

"Hey," Sam called, "What's going on? What happened? Is he okay?"

Then Sam was pushing her roughly aside.

"He's okay. I guess with all the excitement I may have overreacted a bit."

Sam studied her face not looking convinced. He turned back to Dean. "You sure?"

"Yeah," she nodded at his back. "But—"

More pounding feet on the pavement saved Lori from what she was about to say. Rebecca was back with help. Ted, an intern at the hospital and a friend, pushed his way passed Sam and, recognizing Lori, said, "What've we got?"

Dean caught her gaze and she nodded at him. "Ted, can we talk over here a minute?"

Ted let his hand drop from Dean's wrist, looked puzzled, but agreed, "Okay..."

As they moved away, she saw Sam kneel beside Dean, lay a hand on his brother's shoulder and ask, "You sure you're okay? You look like death, man."

Dean was nodding, trying to gently brush off Sam's concern as if he weren't obviously pale and haggard _even_ in the spotty lighting. She almost changed her mind right there…but then he caught her eyes again and the look he gave her fortified her resolve to keep her promise. Facing her friend, she lowered her voice, hands working in front of her, "You trust me, right?"

Ted cocked his head, brow wrinkled in confusion, "Yeah, of course. What's going on?"

Lori bit her lip, considered what she should say. "These people are friends of mine. Dean, the patient," she gestured behind her, "is refusing medical attention…but he's got some burns that need to be treated…the only way he'd agree is if I looked at them—no doctors, no admittance to the hospital."

"Lori—" Ted began.

"No, I know. I know, but I promised…and I think if we push it, he'll just refuse medical attention anyway."

Ted looked over her shoulder at the group behind them. Rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, he said, "I don't know, Lori. He looks pretty rough."

She shook her head. "What are we going to do, then? He needs help, but he won't listen. He asked for an AMA when I tried push it."

Ted looked down, propped his hands on his hips, shaking his head as he studied the tips of his shoes. He rubbed a finger along his lower lip, then nodded. "Why don't we just get him in a room and _I'll_ take a look without officially admitting him. He'll be able to go home tonight—there'll be no paperwork or anything. That way, everybody wins."

Searching his face, she whispered, "You'd do that for me?"

"Well, yeah." He smiled at her. "Look, Lori, you're good at what you do and you care. You are _meant_ to be a doctor. I don't want to see you do anything that would slow that down or keep it from happening."

Lori felt a curl of guilt twist her stomach. "What about you?"

He laughed. "What about me? I'm just doing my job—minus pay." At her hesitation, he continued, "Look, no one—and I do mean _no one_—is going to miss the paperwork that never existed. We'll have him sign something, just in case. It'll be fine."

Reluctantly, she nodded. Truth be told, she was relieved that it was out of her hands. "Okay."

Ted placed his hands on her shoulders, gave her a gentle turn. "Now, let's get our patient inside. You can prep me on the way."

As they approached, Sam stood, asking, "What's going on? Is my brother okay?"

Ted stuck out a hand, "Hi—" he left the long pause for Sam to fill in.

"Sam, name's Sam."

"Okay, Sam. We're going to take a look at…Dean, right?" Sam nodded and he continued, "I'm, Ted, by the way."

Lori tuned them out as she crouched in front of Dean, laying a hand on his knee. "Dean, I know I promised no doctors, but Ted's a friend and he's—"

Dean shook his head, "No—"

"—wait, just listen. He's not going to admit you unless he really thinks you need it. This is strictly off the books. No paperwork, no staying overnight."

"He's not going to admit me, period. Don't you need my permission?" She nodded. "Well, I'm not giving it."

She clenched her jaw against all the protests building in her throat. Taking a deep breath to steady her voice, she whispered, "Why are you being so stubborn? When I found you earlier, your heart rate was far too low—Dean, you stopped breathing for a minute, you obviously need medical attention."

"You promised," he hissed.

Closing her eyes, she sighed and lowered her voice even further, darting her eyes at Sam and Ted a few feet away. "Yes, I did. Against my better judgment. And, so long as Ted thinks you're okay, I won't tell Sam any different. But you'd better not make me regret this."

Dean's eyes flickered to Sam coming up behind her. For a split second, she saw the emotion twist his face, saw him swallow, her words sinking in.

"Hey," Sam started, "time to get you looked at. Think you can walk?"

"I have legs, don't I?" Dean's voice held unwavering resolve despite what she'd just witnessed in his expression.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah," Sam rolled his eyes. "C'mon, let's get you inside." Sam held out his hand, helping Dean get to his feet. Dean wobbled on the first step, but with Sam's support, he stayed upright.

Watching them, Lori had second thoughts. Sam obviously loved Dean, she could see it in the careful way he handled him, in the way he took his time to keep Dean steady without being too obvious about it. It was written in the set of his mouth and the look in his eyes. She could see he was worried about his brother. Lori knew if the tables were turned, she'd want to know the full extent of her sibling's condition.

Then there was Dean. She knew something was going on with him, something in her gut was uneasy. But the way he was now…steady and strong for his brother, so confident… It was so important to him not to cause Sam more worry. And maybe she'd been mistaken about before…he seemed a lot better than her initial assessment. Keeping her promise, she swallowed her doubts and followed the group inside.

It didn't take Ted long to find an empty room. Rebecca left to find out what she could on Aaron, so now it was just the four of them in the small, basic room.

Lori helped Ted assemble everything they needed on a tray. Turning to her, Ted said, "I'm gonna go get the Silvadene…you'll be okay on your own for a minute?"

"Sure, sure. Go ahead. I'll get him prepped."

"Okay. Back in a sec."

As Ted pulled the door half-shut, she turned to Dean. "Go ahead and take off your coat and long-sleeved shirt so we can see how far the burns go up."

Dean froze, looking down. When he looked back up, his face was set with reluctance though he smirked. "If you wanted to get me out of my clothes, you might've picked a more private place. Sammy's not really a group sex kinda guy."

"Dean!" Sam hissed, throwing Lori an apologetic glance.

She just smiled; this was a game she knew well having brothers of her own. Holding up her hands, she started to back toward the door. "Hey, fine. You don't want to take your clothes off for us, maybe a doc—"

"Wait." Dean looked like he was being force-fed something dreadful. "Fine, whatever." Slow and easy, he shrugged out of his coat and over shirt, being careful to protect his burned skin as much as possible. Underneath it all, he wore a worn, gray t-shirt that damply clung to his well-muscled body. No doubt about it, it was a very provocative sight.

Lori fought to maintain her professionalism and suppressed a slow-rising blush that had nothing to do with embarrassment. So, okay, it wasn't like she was _blind_. Surely no one would fault her for taking a second to notice how gorgeous the man was.

Beside her, she heard Sam whisper, "God, Dean," and that was all it took to pull her back into the seriousness of the situation. Burns covered most of Dean's arms, disappearing underneath his t-shirt. But the burns seemed faded, stretched in weird patches that made them look days old. Most of it was light, no worse than a sunburn and not particularly worrying. His hands were the worst, second degree—but even they were better than what she'd witnessed in the car. How could that be?

But any burn, even a minor one, was painful and concerning when covering this much skin area. Risks included loss of body fluids, swelling and even shock, and Dean's hands were swollen to the wrists already. She cleared her throat. "I guess we're gonna need that t-shirt off too."

Dean rolled his eyes, but complied, reaching an arm to grab the back of his shirt collar and draw it over his head—still trying to be careful of the blistering around his knuckles and fingers. Halfway through the action, his face crumpled and he hissed.

"Hold on, let me..." Then Sam was there, easing the shirt over his head. More burned skin was revealed, but it was little more than a blushing of skin. Most of his upper chest and shoulders looked like he'd stepped from a warm shower, nothing more.

"Well, okay, that doesn't look too bad…but I'm going to start an IV to make sure you aren't dehydrated. You don't have a problem with needles do you?" she asked.

"You're kidding, right?" Dean's eyebrows rose as if that were the most ridiculous statement ever made. "Do I look like the kind of guy who would pass out at the first sign of a needle?

"You never know. You just never know." She smiled back, secretly thinking of all the men she'd help pick up off the floor or peel off the ceiling. Working on his IV, she asked, "How did this happen? I didn't smell any smoke or see any signs of a fire."

"Uh," Dean began.

Sam cleared his throat, and arched his eyebrows—instantly interested. When his brother didn't automatically answer, he prompted, "Dean…?"

"Well," Dean stammered awkwardly, "It's kinda a long story."

"Well," she looked up curiously, but kept working, "I've got time."

Dean lifted one shoulder part way. "Um, see, I've been having vis…uh, dreams about Jessica."

This stopped her and she straightened, more questions immediately forming. "Dreams? Or…visions?" She asked cautiously.

The brothers looked at each other. "Both?" Dean answered.

"But, I thought Sam…" she trailed off.

"Well, yeah. Yeah, Sam does…but this is… _different_."

"Different?" she repeated.

"Well, see, Sam has visions of the future…not the same thing. I'm able to communicate with…spirits and things, but no future. I'm kinda like a shortwave radio picking up on supernatural signals."

"I see." She answered. "Were you born with this…_ability_?"

"Uh…no. I kinda had this near death experience a few months back—seems this was the courtesy parting gift." He chuckled a little; though she was sure he found nothing funny about it whatsoever.

"Oh." Nodding, she said, "Yeah, well, makes sense."

"It does?" Both brothers said, obviously not expecting this response.

"Well, yeah. Ever since all this began, and Becky told me about the two of you, I've been doing some research. I'm kinda fascinated by it all." She rolled her shoulders. "And what you're saying goes along with what I've read."

"Huh." Dean looked at Sam and shrugged.

"But," She said, "what does that have to do with your burns?"

Dean's eyes shot nervously to Sam's then slowly shifted to hers. His lips pursed thoughtfully as he began, "I'm not entirely sure. This is the first time anything like this has happened." His eyes darted to Sam again and then fell away. "I think it's residuals from experiencing what Je—the spirit was experiencing."

Sam choked and his face paled—he looked away and said nothing.

Lori's heart jerked awkwardly in her chest. "You mean, you're saying that-that…you experienced," her eyes darted to Sam and then back to Dean, "her _death_?"

Not looking up, Dean nodded. "Yeah. I think the vision was so strong, it manifested physically."

"God," she whispered, not daring to seek Sam out this time.

So quiet, she barely caught it, Dean whispered, "Sorry, Sammy."

In her peripheral vision, she saw Sam nod once, stuffing his hands in his pockets, head hanging to allow a veil of hair to hide his face in shadow. The tension in the room was suffocating. Lori decided it was time for some immediate subject changing.

"Okay, Dean," she began sharply, "I'm going to have to clean the burns on your hands with medical soap. They have some blistering, and it is _essential_ we keep them clean to prevent infection and scarring. It's not going to be pleasant by any means…"

"Yeah, I figured as much," he muttered with a put upon tone. His face, however, said he was utterly grateful for the change in subject. That having his raw flesh scrubbed clean would be a relief compared to hurting Sam with the truth.

"Before I do that, though, is there anything else you need to tell me? Any burns anywhere else? Any other injuries?"

He shook his head immediately. "No. That's it."

She turned to Sam. "This is going to hurt. It might be unpleasant for you to watch. Do you want to stay in here or would you rather wait outside until we're done?"

Sam shook his head. "I'm staying."

"All right, let's get started then."

It didn't take long to figure out Dean had an unusually high tolerance of pain—maybe was used to worse things…which caused a shudder to run through Lori's veins. Even Ted, who got back in time to help with the other hand, seemed impressed. Dean took the cleaning really well, far better than she'd expected, and since they didn't have to stop to let him catch his breath every so often, it was over fairly quickly. Throughout the process, Dean kept prodding Sam to go check on Aaron, but Sam refused to leave Dean's side despite the growing conflict warring across his face.

When the worst was over, Lori grabbed rolls of gauze and tape, and handed them over to Ted. She said, "Hey, Sam. While we finish this up, why don't you go see how Aaron's doing for me?"

Sam hesitated. "I don't—"

"Sam." Dean rolled his eyes again, disgust making his features comical. "I'm fine, dude. Go check on your friends."

"You sure—" he began, but swallowed the rest at one look from Dean. "Okay. I'll be right back."

Dean smirked at his brother, "Not going anywhere."

As soon as Sam left the room, Dean sighed and relaxed completely into the bed. He leaned his head into the pillows, closed his eyes and seemed to mentally separate himself from them and everything around him. Lori spared a glance at Ted who looked back with raised eyebrows.

"You okay, Dean?" Ted asked.

"Just super," came the response. The heavy drag in his voice contradicted his words and caused yet another exchange of glances between Lori and Ted.

Ted hesitated mid-wrap. Lori knew he had something to say, but maybe didn't want to overstep with one of her friends. When they finished, she caught his eye and inclined her head toward Dean, widened her eyes pointedly, giving Ted encouragement to say what was on his mind. Smoothing the last piece of tape over the gauze, she gathered their supplies and turned to put them away while Ted checked Dean's heart rate and blood pressure one last time.

When Ted was finished, he cleared his throat and said, "Look, I know you probably don't want a lecture and it's probably not my business to give one, but I feel like it needs to be said."

Dean scowled, but his eyes popped open to indicate he was listening.

"Right now, your vitals seem _mildly_ concerning, but stable. Blood pressure is a little low, but not alarmingly so…"

Dean nodded impatiently, "And?"

Ted paused a second, then emphasized, "To be honest, you don't look so great. Your body seems stressed…and I'm not entirely convinced it's just the burns. But, without admittance and testing, I can't be sure. Just, please, whatever's going on, don't let it go too long without getting yourself checked out and _definitely_ don't let infection set up in these burns.

It is very important that you take care of them, keep them clean and dry—take all the antibiotics I'm going to prescribe. If you have any problems with dizziness, confusion, chilling, fever, cold sweats—those kinds of things—get yourself to the emergency room as quickly as possible."

Dean inclined his head. "I appreciate the concern, really, but I'm fine. Just a little tired, is all." Dean lifted his hands and squeezed them open and shut. "They already feel a lot better."

"Just be sure—" Ted began.

"Thanks for patching me up, doc," Dean interrupted. "Am I good to go?"

Blowing out a breath, Ted replied, "As soon as your IV bag is empty, you're free to go. I can't keep you here. Feel welcome to make use of the bed until your brother's ready. I'll be back with your script for the antibiotics and pain meds."

Coming back to Dean's bedside, Lori watched him fiddle with the t-shirt in his lap, a look of longing on his face. "Would you be more comfortable dressed?"

He shivered. "It's a little cold in here. Why are hospitals always so _cold_?"

She nodded, "I'm not surprised you feel cool. Your low blood pressure probably isn't helping. It's no problem to disconnect your IV from the port long enough for you to put your clothes on." Eyeing his pronounced gooseflesh, she added, "I'll bring in some warmed blankets too."

Dean gave her a lop-sided grin, "That'd be great. Thanks."

She unhooked the IV from its port and picked up his shirt. "Want some help?"

"Definitely," Dean affirmed, waving his mummified hands in front of himself.

Once he was dressed, she reconnected his IV, pushed in some pain medication and bundled him into two blankets fresh from the warmer. Unsurprisingly, he was asleep within minutes. Lori watched as he sunk deeper into unconsciousness, body stilling and breath evening out. One hand had managed to avoid the cocoon of warmth and rested on his stomach—stark white against the pale blue cover.

As the minutes sluggishly ticked away, she watched over him, letting her mind begin to wander. Ted had long come and gone, delivering Dean's scripts and a detailed patient care list before disappearing again. Nothing else to do, she relaxed into the cold, vinyl chair left for patients' family and let her mind rummage through the night's events.

_What interesting men these Winchesters are_, she thought to herself. Watching the subtle play between Dean and Sam earlier had been fascinating. Never had she met two men, two brothers, more bonded and attuned to each other. Being a people watcher, Lori had spent her life quietly observing those around her. She had seen brothers close as could be and brothers who couldn't stand to be in the same room together. But these two...

It was like they were two parts of a well choreographed dance. Constantly, they shifted, changed and adjusted to unspoken messages being telegraphed between them. It was the first thing she'd noticed about them. It hadn't taken long, though, to see that something troubling was going on with Dean and that Sam ping-ponged between being unaware of things that should be obvious and outright blatant concern.

Maybe it was because Sam, too, was stressed and struggling—being here, being back at this place was obviously difficult for him…or maybe Dean was just _that_ good at counter measures. It was hard to tell in just the few moments she'd spent with them. Most likely both. But she'd noticed that Sam seemed to alternate between being protective of Dean's physical health and, yet, a little blind to his brother's emotional state. But, then, wasn't that the way it often went with men? Always so quick to focus on—

"How's he doing?" Sam's gentle voice made her start.

Jerking around in surprise, she smiled, then stood. "He's okay. Stubborn, anxious to get out of here, but okay. How are the others?"

Sam spared her a quick glance then set about studying his brother with sharp eyes, moving to the head of the bed. "Well, looks like Aaron's arm has a partial break, he has a mild concussion and some bruised ribs. His doctor says he'll be fine, but they're keeping him overnight. Becky's sitting with him. Thought maybe they could use some privacy, so Chris went for coffee and I came here."

"Yeah, Bec was pretty uptight on the way over," she agreed. "I've wanted to check on them, but I figured you wouldn't want Dean to be alone."

Sam looked at her, an odd expression making his eyes shine. "I appreciate that. Thanks."

"Not a problem. Got some brothers and sisters of my own, had _lots_ of practice on the worrying front."

She watched as Sam's hand hovered and skimmed over Dean's shoulder, finally coming to rest on the pillow instead. Long fingers tentatively pressed against the short hairs behind Dean's ear—a press and nothing more. Feeling awkward in the silence, she asked, "Did you know they were together? Becky and Aaron."

Sam smiled slyly. "No, but I'm not surprised. Aaron's had a thing for Becky for a long time now. He was just too shy to show it. I'm glad, though. They deserve to be happy."

Hearing the unspoken sadness, she heard herself murmur, "Yeah, well, so do you. And, Dean, too."

Sam's head jerked around. "What?"

Blood rushed to her cheeks, definitely embarrassment this time. "Sorry. Just thinking out loud." When he continued to stare back at her, she elaborated, "Well, it's just, this kind of life, it can't be easy. No permanent home, no daily support system of family and friends…it has to be hard—lonely—doing what you do. Plus, I saw Dean's scars, Sam. I know that probably comes with the job description."

Sam nodded and huffed, "It's just…_odd_ having people around that know about us."

"Yeah, I'm sure." She laughed quietly.

"Hey, don't mean to interrupt…I brought coffee," Chris called from the doorway.

They both turned, shushing him in unison.

"Sor-ry," he complained quietly, moving into the room. "I didn't know this was a library."

Rolling her eyes, Lori asked, "No coffee for me?"

Chris just shrugged, passed Sam the off-white cup brimming to the rim. "I wasn't sure where you'd be."

Inhaling the coffee, Sam closed his eyes and sighed. "Thanks."

"Sure thing, dude." Gesturing with his own cup, Chris asked, "So, what's the problem? Shouldn't he be—I don't know, doing whatever it is he does to fix things?"

"What's wrong with you?" Lori blurted. "Why do you have to be so rude?"

Chris held his hands out to the sides. "What? It's not like he's got a concussion or broken bones like Aaron."

"No," Lori growled, aware of Sam's eyes weighing on her, "he's just got burns on his hands, arms, chest and face. Do you have any idea how serious burns can be?"

"Wait, I thought you said he's okay." Sam's eyes narrowed.

"Well, yeah, he is." And she hoped it wasn't a lie. "I said, '_could_ be.' The burns on his arms and chest are more like sunburn." She hesitated, not sure how much she should elaborate. "It's really kinda weird. The ones on his hands were the worst, but even they seem much better then when I checked them in the car—the ones on his chest look a few days old already."

"So, what are you saying?" Sam's brow furrowed.

Lori sighed, then threw her hands out. "Honestly, I don't know what I'm saying—but I get the feeling that Dean's burns were much, much worse when he first got here than they are now."

"She's right."

Three sets of eyes swiveled to find the man in question looking back at them.

"Hey, you're awake," Sam said softly.

"Yeah, well, who could sleep with the three of you yammering at each other like a bunch of monkeys?" Dean threw off the blankets and pushed himself up.

Sam pressed on his shoulder. "Take it easy."

"Dude, I'm good," Dean resisted, swinging his legs to the floor. "See that?" He pointed at the empty IV bag. "That means I'm ready to get out of here." He went to stand, but sat heavily down on the edge of the bed again, one hand to his forehead. "Whoa, head rush."

"Man, don't be an idiot!" Sam bit out, one hand pressing on the top of Dean's shoulder with more force this time. Steadying him or holding him in place, maybe both, it would be hard to say.

"See, even Sam agrees—oof!" A quick jab to the side shut Chris up. Lori just glared back when Chris shot daggers her way.

"Maybe you should try to take it easy, _Dean_," Sam said, putting steely emphasis on Dean's name, completely ignoring the others.

"I'm **fine**, _Sam_. Just got up too fast."

And there it was. Lori suddenly felt like she was eavesdropping on something personal, that there was so much more being communicated between these two than what it seemed.

Sam was giving Dean a mulish look that said he didn't believe Dean for one minute. For effect, he rocked back onto his heels and crossed his arms over his chest.

Dean, meanwhile, rolled his eyes. "Oh, for the love of… C'mon, Sam. I just need to sleep—and I can do that at the motel as well as I can here." Dean shook his head when Sam remained unmoved. "Please don't give me that look."

"Lori, what do you think? Is Dean _fine_?" Sam drawled out.

Lori blinked. He was bringing her into this? Her stomach flipped as she struggled to come up with an answer that would betray no one. "Well," she hedged. "I'm not sure I'd call him fine, exactly, but Ted did say he could leave as soon as the drip was finished. I've got his scripts here and Ted wrote home care instructions down in detail."

Dean smirked in triumph, but Sam ignored him, zeroing in on the patient care sheet instead. He plucked it from the bedside tray and studied it with a line of concentration marring his forehead. Lifting his eyes, he said, "All right. We'll go…on one condition. You follow these instructions to the letter and take all your meds like a good boy."

Chris snorted, then tried to cover it with a cough.

Waving a hand at Sam, Dean said, "Sure, sure, whatever will get me _out of here_." He moved to stand, but, once again, Sam's hand fell to his shoulder and pressed him back down to the bed.

"And, I'd like to say goodbye to Aaron and Becky before we leave."

"Okay," Dean nodded and his voice softened. "How is he, anyway?"

Sam worried the paper in his hand. "Got a mild concussion and a broken arm, some bruised ribs—but the doctors are planning on releasing him late tomorrow if everything goes well. He'll be fine."

"No thanks to you," Chris grumbled sourly.

"Dude—" Sam began, a real flare of something in his eyes.

"No, he's right." Dean tugged on the edge of Sam's shirt. "I should've been watching him better."

"Dean."

"No, damn it. He got hurt because I got distracted." Dean looked up at Sam again. Something passed between them, more of that non-verbal communication that made Lori's insides inexplicably squirm and her heart squeeze for these men she barely knew.

"Look, we'll talk about it later," she heard Sam say. "Just—you stay here. I won't be long."

Making shooing motions with his hand, Dean nodded. "Dude, I'm not five. Go already."

Sam scoffed a little at that, but smiled broadly. Giving Dean a final pat where his hand had been resting on his shoulder, he turned to Lori. "Want to come with?"

"Yes, absolutely." She handed Sam the scripts. "Here, you'll need to get these filled." Then, turning back to Dean, she said, "You listen to your brother and take care of yourself."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean groused.

Piercing Chris with a fierce look, she asked, "You coming?"

Chris sprawled lazily in the chair Lori had occupied only minutes before, looking rather smug and unbearable. "In just a second."

Lori paused. "Chris," she warned. She knew that boy only too well. Well enough to know when he had an agenda. Sam turned to watch Chris, curiosity and confusion plainly written on his face.

"I'll be nice. I promise," he said, crossing his heart with his finger.

Lori pressed her lips shut, not sure what was going on exactly, but also knowing it really wasn't her place to intrude, either. Just as she and Sam neared the threshold, she heard Dean say, "Lori. Thanks. For everything."

She turned back and smiled at him. "Anytime."

"Careful," Dean rumbled, "I might take you up on that offer."

"Promise?" she teased.

"Oh, _gawd_." Sam exaggerated an eye roll. "Let's go." He grabbed Lori by the arm and propelled her out the door.

The look that passed between Chris and Dean as she went tickled her intuition and she hesitated, but Sam was already pulling her down the hallway. Clearly, he mistook her hesitation for reluctance of another kind. Blushing a little at the thought, she let him drag her along, letting out a long sigh of resignation.

**TBC**


	6. Chapter 6: Fractures

**Title: **What Comes After**  
Author: **November'sGuest  
**Character's: **Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends, and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.  
**Category: **Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU  
**Rating: **T (PG-13)  
**Spoilers: **None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.  
**Disclaimer: **Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun…obviously no profit made.**  
Summary: **Sam and Dean travel to Stanford to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

**Author's notes**: Sorry folks…I know this is well over a year late and I have no words to make that okay…so I'll spare you all of my excuses and just get on with it, okay? However, I do want to thank you all for your patience, kindness, PMs and words of encouragement. Love and hugs to each of you. Also, I wanted to thank all those who read and reviewed/commented but never got a personal thanks from me. It's funny because I still have all the notifications in my e-mail because I can't quite bring myself to delete them—yet I feel like it's far too late to answer them considering. I keep thinking maybe I should start with a clean slate and just focus on making sure every review and every comment gets answered with this chapter forward. Whatever I do, please believe that each one was read and loved and that I'm always grateful for each one.

Before we get started, I'd like to thank some people who've been instrumental getting me this far along, whether it was just advice or a full beta of the chapter. Special thanks to **ThruTerry'sEyes** for looking the chapter's dialogue for me when I got stuck a few months back. Gratitude and thanks to both **Gaelicspirit** and **Sodakey **for beta'ing the chapter for me. Their help and advice was valuable and made this chapter a smoother read in many ways. And to all three, a big ol' smish for the continued support…it's been a long, frustrating road getting this chapter up.

* * *

Chapter 6: Fractures

Dean was quiet. Too quiet. And it only served to amplify Sam's concern about taking him home AMA. Things didn't get any better in the car. Dean dropped into the passenger seat wordlessly, clumsily tugging his coat closer with his bandaged hands. Leaning a little into the door, he sat staring out his window, tight lines around his eyes, lips pressed firmly together.

Just staring and silent.

Sam's initial attempt to question him was met with burdened sigh and a whispered, "Leave it, Sam." And though it went against his very nature, Sam let it go. Something about the way Dean held himself made Sam think of cracks in plaster—he didn't want to see what would happen if he pushed.

After filling the prescriptions at the nearest 24-hour pharmacy, Dean promptly swallowed both the antibiotic and the pain pill, leaving Sam bereft of the argument he'd been gearing up for. Worry blossomed painfully within Sam's chest—he'd never felt so off-kilter. He very nearly cracked a pod-person joke, but the hard slope of Dean's shoulders and his drawn face made the words die in Sam's throat.

Within fifteen minutes, the pain pill kicked Dean's butt solidly to the curb. Elvis had left the building. Maybe had left the _planet_. Sam knew his brother was weary to the bone, utterly exhausted—but was that all this was?

The Magic 8-Ball answers—don't count on it.

A hard layer of worry blanketed the mild inner irritation Sam felt when it came time to wrestle his solid frame of a brother out of the car. He manhandled Dean up and out against the passenger side of the car, one hand to his brother's chest to keep him steady while the fresh air did its work. Finally, Dean roused enough to stumble to the motel room with only a guiding touch at his elbow. As soon as his head hit the pillow, though, he was out again, as if a switch had been flipped.

Sam sighed as he bent over and removed his brother's boots, letting each one thunk to the floor before pulling the covers out from under him. When he began trying to ease Dean out of his jacket, Dean blinked blearily up at Sam, croaking, "Dude, are you heavy breathing in my ear?"

Sam straightened, blowing his sweaty bangs out of his eyes. With a flat voice, he quipped, "Yes, Dean, I'm totally hot for you when you're high on narcotics. Nothing in the world gets me more aroused. Now, can you please take off your coat so we both can get some sleep?"

Dean frowned for a moment, like he wasn't quite sure what had just happened, then rolled over, pulling the jacket tighter around himself, his nose burrowing deep into the pillow with a soft sigh.

Rolling his eyes, Sam muttered, "Screw it. Keep the jacket, I don't care."

He flipped the covers over Dean and flopped wearily onto his own bed, worming his way into a nest and turning to face Dean before falling blessedly into sleep.

_The bed molded around him like he'd been sleeping in it for years, mattress remembering the imprint of his body. He almost felt like he was floating. Something warm and wet splashed on his forehead. Plink, then a pause before another plink bounced against his skin. Blinking his eyes open, his heart banged hard and then lurched painfully. _

_Jessica was gaping-bleeding-dying above him. _

_Sam struggled up, eyes firmly fixed on Jess. He knew what came next—fire, an explosion of fire, hot and bright, then Dean pulling him to safety as the love of his life burned to char on a familiar ceiling. But that didn't happen. The fire that should've come, didn't. Jessica opened her mouth and, for a second, Sam expected to hear her call out to him. Instead, the chorus to Simple Plan's "Welcome to My Life" played for several seconds then paused before starting up again a second later. _

"Sam! Wake up!" Dean's voice rang in his ears and a warm hand shook his shoulder.

With a jolt, Sam opened his eyes, gasping. A moment later, Dean's face came into focus—a little pale and sweaty, and a whole lot concerned. He could feel his brother's bandaged hand resting on his right shoulder.

Dean gave him a final nudge then straightened. "You okay?"

Sam pushed himself up, drew a hand through his hair and cleared his throat, buying himself a moment. "Uh, yeah," his voice cracked in the middle, but he pretended not to notice. "Just a dream. I'm fine."

Dean hesitated, not looking entirely convinced. Then he lifted a shoulder in a semi-shrug, saying, "Well, your phone's been ringing. You might want to see who it is. They seemed pretty insistent."

He nodded and reached instinctively for his Blackberry. Three missed calls back to back—all from Becky. Well, okay, that made sense. "Welcome to My Life" was Rebecca's ringtone. Sam hit _call back_ and waited for her to pick up, his eyes tracking Dean's movements. Dean slumped down on his bed, shoulders drooping forward. He started to scrub one hand over his face, caught sight of the stark wrappings, blinked a few times, then let his hand drop limply back into his lap with a scowl. Weariness seemed to radiate off him in waves that sucked the air out of Sam's lungs.

"Hello—Sam?" Rebecca's brassy voice cut into his thoughts.

"Uh, hey, Bec. You called?" Sam stood, biting the dry skin at the side of his thumb.

Becky's weary breath filled the earpiece. "Yeah, I did. Kinda got worried when you didn't answer. Everything okay? Dean okay?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, yeah. We're fine, just catching up on sleep."

In his ear, Becky huffed in agreement. "Yeah, it was a long night, huh? Anyway, no biggie, just…. I came home to shower and change before going back to the hospital and…well, Nathan dropped by before I left. He'd forgotten his glasses at my place. When I told him about Aaron and Dean getting hurt, he kinda flipped a little."

"Is he alright?" Sam asked.

"Well…I don't know. I mean, I told him Aaron was going to be okay and that Dean was already back with you, but he just took off. To tell you the truth, I'm a little worried. I think all this is bringing back old memories and I am afraid he's not handling it well. I thought, you know, maybe you could talk to him." Rebecca rushed on before Sam could say anything, "I think your talks really helped him after Rachel died. You were the only one he seemed to open up to."

Sam squeezed the bridge of his nose, drawing in a long breath. "Yeah, okay. I don't know how much good it'll do, it's been a long time…but I can try. Do you have his number?"

"I can give you his cell number, sure, but he's not answering—goes straight to voicemail. That's really not uncommon, though. He's always forgetting to charge the battery or turn his phone on."

Sam nodded to himself, then chuckled. "Yeah, that's sounds like Nathan. Any idea where I can find him?"

"I have a good idea where to start. You remember The Old Pro?"

"Yeah, yeah, the bar on Ramona Street, right?"

"That's it—and that's likely where you'll find him. He's been spending more and more time there in the last year. Especially when he's upset."

"Right, okay. I'll go by and check. If he's not there, should I call you back?"

Rebecca took her time considering his question before answering, "No. I mean, I'm probably overreacting. I'm sure he's fine…I just can't help but worry about the kid a little."

Smiling, Sam said, "Yeah, I know, Momma Bear. It's why we love you."

Becky laughed at the old nick-name. "Don't you start." She paused and then continued, "Okay, well, you caught me going out the door. I'm gonna go sit with Aaron, his doctor is supposed to be in sometime this afternoon."

"He's okay, though? He's coming home today?"

"When I left, they were saying he should be able to come home this evening some time after his doctor checks all his labs. And, yeah, he seems okay. Sore, but okay."

"Good, good. I'm glad to hear it." Sam pitched his voice lower and turned his back to Dean. "We were worried about him."

"Sam, c'mon, I know that tone. You know it's not your fault, right? Aaron wanted to go. He's a big boy and can make his own decisions."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. But still—he trusted us to keep him safe."

"Okay, just stop right there. He wouldn't want you taking this on yourself. You know that. Maybe he was a little overeager, but I do think he was fully aware of the danger involved. It's not like he didn't know this thing is killing people."

Sam nodded. "Right. I know, and you're right."

On the other end of the line, he could hear her take a breath. "You gonna be okay with this?"

"Yeah, I'm good."

"I'll see you later then?"

"Sure. We've got a few things to do, but, yeah. Call me when you get home with Aaron and we'll come over."

"Will do. You guys be careful."

"We'll do our best," Sam chuckled. "See ya later."

"Later."

Sam stood staring at the wall in front of him, Becky's words still ringing in his ears. Slowly, he let the phone fall by his leg, thumb pressing _end_.

"You okay?" Dean's voice sounded sandpaper rough causing Sam to want to offer him water…or something stronger.

Turning, Sam pocketed his phone. "Yeah. Just thinking."

"Well, don't hurt yourself." Dean's goofy smile spread across his face, but Sam could see it didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "Everything's okay with your friends?"

"Aaron's getting to come home sometime later today. Becky said she'd call when they were home."

Dean nodded, looking down at his fingers resting in his lap. Sam didn't miss the guilt that passed across Dean's face as he ducked his head.

"And?" Dean prodded, still not looking at Sam.

"Well," Sam moved to sit on his bed, across from Dean. "Becky said when she got home today, Nathan was waiting for her. When she told him what had happened, he got—he didn't take it well. She wanted to know if maybe I could talk to him."

At that, Dean lifted his head and cocked an eyebrow at Sam, confusion coloring his expression. Before Dean could ask questions, Sam plowed on.

"I guess you could say I used to be Nathan's confidant. He's always been a little awkward and it was hard for him to fit in with the group at first, but we always hit it off really well."

"Isn't he younger?" Dean asked.

"Yeah. We met him through his sister, Rachel. She was a good friend of Jess's. She was always looking out for Nathan, taking care of him. She asked us to help him out because he was having a hard time adjusting to college life."

Dean didn't say anything, just waited for Sam to continue.

"She died a couple years ago and Nathan kinda disappeared inside himself. I guess the same thing happened when they lost their parents, only this time Rachel wasn't there to draw him back out. We were all scared for him, that's when we sorta took over looking after him."

"Especially you." Dean made it a statement rather than a question.

"Yeah, _especially_ me. I could relate in a lot of ways to the older sibling situation. I knew how rough it was for him suddenly being left alone like that."

Sam didn't realize what he'd said until he saw a muscle jump in Dean's jaw and his brother's fists clenching in his lap despite whatever pain it might've caused. Dean looked like he'd physically taken a hit.

"Dean—"

Dean held his hand up to stop Sam's next words, shook his head once and stood to pace over to the window. In the space between the curtains, sunlight poured through, forming a halo around him. Sam squinted away, then stood, checking the time again.

"You'll be okay while I try to track Nathan down?" he asked, grabbing the keys from where he'd left them earlier.

Keeping his focus on the world outside the window, Dean mumbled, "Again, I'm not five."

"Maybe I should redress your hands before I leave?" Sam persisted, eyes flashing to Dean's bandages.

Looking at his hands as if he'd just remembered they were encased in gauze, Dean said, "No, they're fine. Don't even hurt anymore." He flexed his hands as he turned toward Sam. "See? Good as new." At Sam's pointed look, he went on, "Don't get your panties in a bunch. If they look like they need it, you can redress them when you get back."

Sam's stomach growled loudly, reminding him of how long ago he'd last ate. "Want me to bring back food?"

Dean shrugged noncommittally. "Not really hungry, but I could use some coffee. After I shower, I'll make some calls and see what I can find online. When you get back, we can check out the other victims' locations."

Sam hovered at the door, wanting to leave, but not wanting Dean to be alone. Dean's eyes lifted to meet his, registered the indecision then shuttered his own.

"What? You need me to hold your hand? Go find your friend, Sam."

Sam felt his body go rigid, but as quickly as the anger came, it drained away. In a moment of stark clarity, he recognized the deflection. Shaking his head at himself and at Dean, he jerked the door open and stepped into the sun.

~*~ WCA ~*~

The Old Pro felt a little like coming home. Weekends and evenings full of laughter and camaraderie flashed through Sam's memory the moment he stepped inside—he could hear the clink of glasses and feel warm hands clapping his back. Varying notes of pear, lily of the valley, and musk assaulted his senses and left him reeling. It was so real he could feel the ache in his bones, fingers itching to tangle in soft blonde curls and smooth across pale, peach blushed skin. Sam shook his head, trying to separate _then_ from _now_. Focusing, pushing the moment away, he took in a deep breath and scanned the bar for Nathan.

There, scrunched into the darkened space at the far left was a familiar shock of red hair and slumped, thin shoulders. Sam made his way over slowly, trying to come up with some sort of ice breaker. When he finally reached Nathan, he slid quietly onto the stool next to his friend and folded his hands on the bar.

"You okay?"

A wry smile spread across Nathan's face. "Talk about déjà vu. I thought I was seeing things when I first saw you standing over there. But it was good, ya know?"

Sam fidgeted at the emotion coloring Nathan's voice, fighting back the curl of guilt clenching his stomach. "You know, you can call me anytime. No matter where I am, I'm still your friend."

Nathan ducked his head, turning the glass in front of him with the tips of his fingers. "I know. Not really the same as having you here though."

"Well," Sam said, soft sigh drawing the word out, "I'm here now. Bec's worried about you."

"Is she?" Nathan asked softly, almost as if he were lost in some deep, all encompassing thought, then finally turned to look Sam in the eyes. "I'm fine. She worries too much."

Sam gestured at the amber liquid half drained from the glass. "You sure about that?"

Nathan lifted the glass and finished off the contents, leaving the question unanswered. "So, why didn't you tell me?"

Lifting his eyebrows in question, Sam floundered before asking, "Tell you?"

"About what it is you and your brother do. You know you could've told me anything."

Sam could see Nathan's struggle to keep it from sounding like an accusation, but felt the bite anyway.

"Not really something you talk about with other people, you know? You'd have thought I was _insane_."

"Maybe, maybe not. Guess we'll never know," Nathan finished sadly. "But," he paused, seeming to search for how to put his thoughts into words. Glancing up at Sam and then back to his empty glass, he said, "There's things I never told you about Rachel's death. I didn't tell anybody—I was afraid they'd lock me up for sure. Not like I handled that whole thing well anyway."

Sam's went still, felt his heart skip and then speed up in uneasy staccato. Brows furrowed, he clenched the edge of the bar and tried to keep the unease out of his body language and voice.

"What are you talking about? What things?"

Nathan huffed out a self-conscious laugh. "You'll think I'm nuts. Hell, I think I'm nuts." He looked at Sam then, eyes nervous and wary—like he was afraid Sam would laugh or react badly to everything he wasn't saying.

Sam wasn't sure what his reaction should be. He wasn't sure he wanted to hear this, but couldn't let his friend suffer because of his own issues. Shaking his head, he forced a chuckle. "Right, because hunting monsters and having visions is so very sane." Sam bumped his friend's shoulder. "C'mon, spill. I'm the last person in the world to judge."

Eyes widening, Nathan stuttered out, "So, you really see the future? That's true?"

Motioning to the bartender, Sam ordered a Coke before clearing his throat. "Well, it's kinda more complicated than that…but, yeah."

"When did—how? I mean—"

Shame and guilt flooded up to Sam's ears. Familiar emotions. Always there. Waiting for the slightest crack in Sam's psyche to come rushing forward again.

"Jess," he said. "I began dreaming about her death months before it happened." He shrugged, not able to take his eyes off the tiny bubbles dancing around in the glass placed in front of him. "It'd never happened to me before, so I just thought…." He cleared his throat. "I just thought it was a nightmare. But," he lifted stark eyes to meet Nathan's, "somewhere deep inside I think I knew. I knew and I did nothing."

For a moment, Nathan sat silent. Sam flicked his eyes back to the soda, breaking the moment to take a gulp, aware that Nathan was staring at his profile.

"God, Sam—just, that's awful. You must've felt so—" Nathan abruptly stopped, looking at Sam with a blush.

"Guilty?" Sam finished for him. "You have no idea." Deciding he needed something stronger, Sam drained his glass and signaled the bartender. "Gimme whatever he's having." Sam nodded toward Nathan's glass and then watched the whiskey being poured into a shot glass in front of him.

An awkward silence punctuated the space around them until Nathan sighed and asked quietly, "Do you think it would've made a difference? If you'd been there, I mean."

"I don't know…maybe." Sam threw back his shot and motioned for more. Some part of him knew it was a bad idea to be drinking right now, but another fiercely stubborn part of him just didn't care. "Dean doesn't think so. Says we weren't ready to deal with…" Sam's eyes skittered to Nathan's and then away, "…the situation. But…."

Nathan nodded. "But you think he's just saying that to make you feel better."

Sam breathed out through his teeth, bowing his head. "You don't know how many times I wish I had been home that weekend—that I'd just told Dean I couldn't leave and meant it."

"You don't…blame your brother, do you?" Nathan asked.

Sam shook his head. "It's not like he could've known. But, there are moments…. I mean, I know, logically, that he's right. If I'd been here, I'd have probably gotten myself killed—or worse—and I know that, but I can't help but feel like I should've been there anyway."

"No, I get it, man. I understand completely." Nathan drained his second drink. "I'm sure your brother means well, but I get how you feel. He probably can't understand what it's like to love someone like you loved Jess. No offense, but on first impression, your brother seems like the love 'em and leave 'em type."

Snorting, Sam nodded in agreement. "That's no joke. We've been in town less than two days and already he's hitting on Lori."

Immediately, the words stung his conscience. Dean's morose behavior days after leaving Cassie behind suddenly vivid in Sam's mind, even now, nearly a year after.

Cocking his head a little, Nathan said, "Well, it did seem kinda mutual. She couldn't take her eyes off him the other night."

Sam flashed back to the hospital, to how Lori had diligently waited with Dean until Sam had been ready to leave. She'd said she got the sibling thing and that was why, but it felt like there was more to it.

"How is Dean, by the way? Becky said he was hurt, but she didn't elaborate."

"Uh," Sam shook his thoughts clear, finished off another drink, "he's okay."

Nathan turned his whole body toward Sam. "You don't sound so sure." At Sam's obvious reluctance, Nathan pressed, "C'mon, man. If you want me to trust you with my deepest darkest, then give me a little mutual give and take."

Nathan always knew Sam's buttons. Made it hard to be stoically noble in his own misery. "It's just, it's hard to say…Dean's not been well for a little while now, but recently…since we got here, he seems worse."

Sam noticed the surprise in Nathan's eyes and felt his own leg begin to bounce.

"What do you mean? Does it have something to do with what happened yesterday?"

"Well, it's complicated. Dean was hurt pretty bad about three months ago, has some problems with his lungs because of it, as you saw…but he'd been getting better. He seemed better, then he started having these dreams. More like nightmares…about Jess."

Nathan's eyebrows drew upward as his eyes widened. "A-about _Jess_?"

"Yeah. Messed up, right? Anyway, these nightmares seem to have a physical effect on him and it's been worse since we've gotten here. He's just not himself. It's like being here makes it all worse. And last night, when we went to the apartment, he had a vision of Jess burning…and somehow, I can't explain it, and it sounds crazy, but Dean had…he was burned like the fire had been real."

Nathan gaped. "That's imposs—I mean, how's that possible? That doesn't make sense."

Sam shrugged. "Tell me about it."

"But, he's okay, isn't he? Becky said they'd sent him home."

"The stubborn ass refused to be checked in, but, yeah, he's better. Whatever it is, it seems to fade with time or something."

"I gotta tell ya, Sam, it sounds scary. If he were my brother, I wouldn't want him anywhere near that place."

"Yeah," Sam began, signaling for another round of drinks, "try telling him that. He's an idiot when it comes to taking care of himself. He's not gonna listen to me."

"So, _make him_ listen." Nathan nodded to himself. "Sit him down and tell him this is the way it's gonna be. Assert yourself."

Sam laughed, a pleasant buzz finally settling in and leeching away some of the cold encasing his heart. "Listen, I wish I could, but with Dean…well, it won't work."

"Have you ever tried it? You are famous around here for your unmatched stubbornness." Nathan grinned at him and suddenly it felt like old times.

Sam returned the smile. "Touché."

Talking about it made it seem so simple…or maybe it was the liquor. But, it was true, Sam was known for his epic amount of stubborn among his friends. He'd actually taken some amount of pride from his role within the gang. Dean had accused him more than once of being just like Dad, and there wasn't a more stubborn SOB around than John Winchester. So maybe Nathan was right, maybe he should protect Dean from himself, it sounded right, more right than anything had in days—no way was his brother getting near that apartment again.

"My friend, I think you're right." Sam sat back in his chair, feeling more relaxed than he had in weeks. Maybe that was the liquor talking, but it felt good regardless. It completely slipped his mind to swing the conversation back around to Nathan's earlier confession.

~*~ WCA ~*~

Dean's research hit a brick wall about an hour in. There wasn't enough to go on, too many possibilities and no way to narrow them down. The only thing left was to look for leads at the other sites—or, more likely, back at the apartment itself. Sam probably wouldn't be too keen on that idea, but Dean's gut told him that's where he needed to be if they were ever going to figure this out.

Stretching rearwards in the straight-backed chair, Dean's vertebrae cracked and popped. He found something satisfying in the pull and burn of his muscles, the shifting of his bones—it felt good to feel his body move and respond. This sitting around and waiting was making him feel a little stir crazy. A jumbled ball of energy coiled within him, winding tighter as each minute ticked by, making his skin crawl and itch. Under all that, the low-level hum of something else chilled him, despite the fact that he'd long ago turned off the air conditioning.

Checking his watch, Dean sighed and began to slowly push himself to his feet just as someone rapped lightly on the door. He steadied himself a brief second before walking over and pulling the door open. His words were stolen by the surprise he felt at finding Lori standing in front of him.

Her eyes fell to Dean's mouth as he opened it, closed it, then twisted it up into a sheepish grin. She blushed a little before jerking her eyes back up to his.

Giving a little wave, she chirped, "Hi. Just thought I'd drop by and see how you were doing. I didn't see your car, so I really didn't think anyone would be here. But, I was already here, so…is this a good time?"

"Uh, yeah, yeah," Dean finally stuttered out and then stepped to the side, allowing her entrance to the room. "Sam went out for a little bit and I was just taking a break, so your timing's actually pretty good."

Lori nodded and moved into the center of the room, nervously squeezing her hands together. Dean gestured for her to have a seat in the chair he'd just vacated, then eased himself down on the end of the bed.

"Wow, it's really hot in here. Is your air conditioning broke?" she asked as she eyed the long sleeved shirt he was wearing. He'd taken his coat off to free up his arms while working on the laptop. "Aren't you burning up?"

Dean quickly covered when he saw her wince at her own words. "I guess I got busy and didn't notice. Lemme just… ." He gestured toward the window unit as he rose.

Despite the shivers dancing just beneath his skin, he walked over and turned the knob, kicking the air conditioning on. He grit his teeth against the icy air blasting right through his over-shirt. Pasting on a smile, he turned back to Lori and sat back on the bed.

Lori rubbed the tops of her legs as she spoke. "So, I thought maybe I could take a look at your hands and see how they're doing."

"House call," said Dean, giving her a wide, winning grin. "Nice."

Nodding absently, she murmured, "It's no trouble…I was a little curious anyway. Do you have anything I can remove the bandages with? Scissors, knife…?"

Dean nodded and stood. "Yeah, sure, we've got a med kit in the—"

"Oh," she interrupted, "and if you've got extra bandages, go ahead and bring those."

"Okay, be right ba—" Dean stumbled over the floor strip as he entered the bathroom and cursed as he almost went down. "Damn it!"

"You okay?" Lori asked, half rising from her chair.

Dean felt his ears burn, but he yelled back, "Yeah, all good!"

Fumbling for the med kid under the sink, he cursed again as he swayed and his vision faded into bright floaters. _Okay_, he said to himself as he kneeled on the floor, _slow down and breathe_. Inhaling, he closed his eyes, squeezed his fists into tight balls, and tried to still the trembling in his fingers. They'd been doing that off and on for the last hour, making tapping at the laptop even more of a pain then the gauze alone was being. Now he felt his nerves ratchet up, increasing the uncontrollable twitching.

Lori's presence made him feel nervous in a way he hadn't felt around a woman in a long, long time. Realistically, he knew it couldn't go anywhere, but the knowing didn't seem to phase his heart's desire.

"Come on, Dean, get it together," he whispered to himself.

His jaw clenched briefly. He released a slow, deep breath and shook his fists out. The dizziness had eased with the stillness and he picked up the med kit more surely this time. He pulled himself to his feet carefully and strode back out to the main room, pushing his nerves deep, deep down where they became a ghostly itch under a layer of numb.

Sitting on the edge of the bed again, Dean placed the kit next to him and popped it open, rummaging around a minute then holding out a pair of straight Kelly forceps. Lifting his gaze, he stopped at the look on her face.

Her eyes were wide and she swallowed a nervous laugh. "Uh, wow. You boys are really well stocked." Her eyes flicked down to the med kit and back to his.

"Uh, yeah, I guess we are." Dean chuckled, feeling her warm fingers brush lightly against his as she took the scissors into her own. His eyes flashed to hers, but she looked quickly away.

"Do you," she cleared her throat and scooted closer, "need all that? Or are you just over prepared?"

Dean placed his right hand palm up on his knee, giving her a place to work. "Definitely _not_ over prepared. Hazards of the job."

Lori nodded like it wasn't a huge surprise and began cutting away the gauze on his left hand. "Well, kinda figured you were no stranger to pain. Most people don't handle having their burns cleaned so well. It's actually a pretty painful process."

Dean didn't know what to say to that so he just nodded and kept his eyes on her hands. Once she'd cut down the middle, she carefully began pulling the wrapping away.

Using a gentle touch, Lori turned his hand in different angles, examining the flesh. "Looks like all the swelling is gone, skin is smooth and it looks dry. Not nearly as red, either. How's it feel?"

Dean squeezed his hand into a fist and released it a few times rapidly. "Honestly?"

She nodded, face lit up with wonder.

"Tender when the skin pulls, but not bad. I can use them again, anyway."

"That's pretty amazing, Dean," she said. "Nothing short of a miracle. I can't understand how—it looks nothing like it did last night. Have you ever seen anything like this before?"

"Actually, no," he said. "I have a theory, though."

"Care to share your theory while I unwrap the other one?" Lori asked, taking his other hand and turning it over, snipping carefully into the gauze.

"Well, there was no actual fire—I mean, I _saw_ the fire and _felt_ it, experienced what Jessica experienced, right? But the actual damage seems to be fading much quicker than a normal injury. It only makes sense that, if it's a residual effect of Jessica's experience, it would reverse with distance from the apartment and with time."

Lori nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It's just, well," she shrugged one shoulder, "it's hard to wrap my head around it because the condition you were in last night was real—your body didn't know the difference. I mean, if you had sustained fatal injuries—what then?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess if you die before the damage has time to reverse, you're screwed."

The frown on Lori's face told Dean she didn't like that answer one bit. Before she could say anything, he held both hands up and said, "So, doc, what's the prognosis?"

Slowly, her eyes tracked from his wide smile to the flesh waving in front of her. Catching the newly uncovered left hand, she pulled it into her lap, turning it in different directions, peering at it closely like she had with the right one. Her warm hands seemed so tiny and delicate next to his. Her touch was reverent and it warmed him from the inside out even as the room's temperature continued to chill his bones.

"Amazingly enough, I don't think you need the bandages anymore," she said. "They look really good. Looks like really bad sunburn and nothing more. Still, I'd keep applying the cream. It'll help ease the pain of the skin pulling."

Dean felt his heart rate speed up at the way she looked at him—innocence and caring. How long had it been since he'd felt like someone was actually interested in his wellbeing? He felt himself returning her grip, drawing a shy smile from her as she looked down at their joined hands. His stomach gave a little flip and he felt his nerves come rushing back. This girl was getting under his skin and that was not something he knew how to handle. It wasn't even something he knew how to _allow_. Someone like him could never be with a girl like her.

He gave a small shake of his head, trying to regain his equilibrium. He hated this feeling of being laid bare. It was steadily getting worse, as if being in this place was wearing away his defenses. Maybe he was just working too hard at keeping everything in—keeping Sam safe from the bleed-over and keeping his professional façade intact.

"Dean, you okay?" Lori was peering at him with concern, her grip tightening.

Forcing his body to relax, he nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Where'd you go? You left me there for a minute—your hands are shaking."

"I—"

Before he could finish, the doorknob jiggled, then twisted, letting Sam into the room. Dean hadn't even heard the Impala pull up.

"Hey, who's car—" Sam stopped mid-sentence when his eyes fell upon Lori and Dean, hands still clasped.

Lori quickly pulled back. "Hey, Sam," she tossed out.

Her fingers rose in half a wave, but Sam turned and shut the door, ignoring her friendly attempt. Dean frowned. That wasn't like Sam.

Sam's eyes narrowed on Dean when he turned and he got that pinched look that told Dean his little brother was jumping to conclusions.

Voice Kansas-flat, Sam asked, "Hey, Lori. What brings you here?" He tossed the keys on the table and brought his hands to rest on his hips, giving Dean another hard look over her head.

"I stopped by to see how Dean was feeling. A little house call before I'm off to the hospital to visit Aaron." She smiled, but Dean could see the awkwardness was making her hands flutter about nervously.

"Oh, so this was your idea—" Sam began as his eyes fell on the med kit and the discarded gauze. "Well, that was…really nice. You really seem to care about your patients."

"Sam," Dean warned, something about Sam's tone not sitting right.

"What?" Sam looked at Dean, fake innocence. "It's nice that she went out of her way to check on you."

Dean picked up on the slight slur to Sam's words and cocked his head as he looked his brother over more closely. "You been drinking?"

Lori jumped up, gathering her things. "I'm sorry, guys, I've gotta get going. Places to be and all that." She squeezed Dean's shoulder as she hurried by. "Finish our talk later?"

Dean watched Sam's eyes zero in on Lori's hand on his shoulder and the scowl that followed. He ignored his brother as he stood, gently loosening her grip and walking around Sam to open the door for her.

"Yeah, sure. Later." He smiled his reassurance and watched as she hurried out the door.

Seeing her safely pulling away, he shut the door with considered care not to slam it. Holding the door knob in a tight grip to steady the suddenly tipping room, he drew in a deep breath before he turned toward Sam, still fidgeting at the end of the beds.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Dean's voice lowered, a storm cloud brewing in his chest.

Shrugging, Sam muttered, "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm actually really good."

"Yeah?" Dean moved to lean against the table. "Then what's up with the jealous chick act? It's not like you to be rude."

Sam scoffed. "Rude? I'm rude. You hit on anything within a hundred mile radius, including that girl who put her career on the line to help you and _I'm_ rude? She's not one of your bar flies. She's a _nice_ girl."

Clenching his jaw, Dean shut his eyes for just a second, shook his head and blew out a breath to circumvent all the wrong things he wanted to say, steady his suddenly rapid heartbeat. "You're drunk. You always were a piss-poor drunk and that's why I'm gonna let this slide."

"Yeah, you do that, Dean," Sam said wearily, flopping down on the bed, closing the med kit and scooting it farther away with Dean's discarded dressings. "And I'm not _that _drunk."

Dean watched Sam's face cloud over with misery.

Dean sighed, scrubbing a hand through his hair and over his face. "What's going on? Is it your friend?"

"No, Nathan's fine. Actually, it's you." Sam's eyes lifted and Dean saw the worry swimming there.

"Me? What about me?"

Sam hesitated, then pushed himself up to sit, resolve settling in the earnest lines around his mouth in a way that made Dean feel uneasy.

"I don't think you should work this case." Sam held up a hand before Dean could interrupt. "But since I know you won't go back to Missouri's or to Bobby's…I think you should keep your distance from the apartment."

"What? Sam, I'm fine."

Sam's eyebrows climbed. "Oh really? Then why are your hands shaking?" He nodded toward Dean's hands.

Dean didn't need to look. He could feel the trembling, not just through his hands, but his whole body. Steeling his voice in defiance of it, he repeated, "I'm. Fine."

Walking past Sam, he leaned to pick up the bandages and the med kit. As he pulled upright, Sam's hand shot out and grabbed his upper arm. It was nearly enough to pull him off his feet, but he dug in and held steady.

"No. You're not. You could've died." Sam's eyes beseeched Dean to listen.

Dean tamped down his rising irritation as he jerked loose. "Our research has hit a dead end, Sam. We've got nothing. Our best hope of figuring this out is at that apartment."

Sam shrugged and shook his head. "I don't care. I don't care if it's the only good lead we've got, I don't want you anywhere near that place."

Dean's face screwed up, lips twisting the words as he said, "Even if that's the _only_ way to fix this?"

"There's got to be another way. We've still got the other locations to check. Maybe—"

"And what if the same thing happens there, huh? You gonna forbid me from going there, too?" Dean walked over to the trash, dumped the gauze and stood with his back to the room.

"It won't. It won't because Jess has no direct connection to those places like the apartment."

Dean could feel Sam's eyes boring into his shoulders. "You're grasping at straws. You know whatever 'this' is…it's not limited to the apartment." He turned and stepped over to the table, setting the med kit down before his increasingly numb fingers dropped it.

"Don't be stupid, Dean. Nothing like your hands has happened anywhere _but_ at the apartment and we both know why that is. She's strongest there because she died there."

"Exactly! That is why I need to go back there. Maybe she can help—"

"Help get you killed? No, just—no."

Fear, sharp and cold, sliced through Dean. Sam would never find peace until this was solved—_he'd_ never find peace until this was solved. "Sam." He lifted a hand toward his brother, one last ditch attempt at reason.

"No, man, I won't let you risk it."

Fear morphed into anger, sudden and fierce, like an animal backed into a corner. "Oh, yeah? You gonna stop me?"

Tension cracked between them as Sam stood, drawing himself up to his full height. "Don't do this, Dean. Please."

Dean smiled coldly, stepping into Sam's space. Exchanging glares, they stood, toe to toe. Dean could smell the cloud of alcohol surrounding his brother and, this close, could see the doubt and fear wavering in Sam's eyes. As quick as it had come, his anger dissipated.

Taking a step back, he broke eye contact and turned toward the table, shoulders slumped. His chest felt tight and heavy. Drawing a breath was an effort. "Look, man, I don't wanna fight," he said, closing his eyes.

"Then don't," said Sam, belligerence black and heavy in his tone.

Dean's head came up sharply. Brow furrowed, he asked, "Are you okay, Sam? I mean, really, what's going on?"

Jutting his chin out, Sam muttered stubbornly, "This isn't about _me_."

Dean bit his lip and smirked. "Right, right. Of course it isn't." He snagged the keys off the table in front of him and was at the door before Sam could process it.

Moving off the bed, voice heavy with suspicion and fear, Sam said, "Where are you going?"

Pausing outside the door, Dean clipped, "Out. I need some air."

"Dean—"

Dean smirked as he threw a deadly look at Sam. "Don't worry," he said, voice gruff with emotion, brows set low over his eyes, "I won't do anything _stupid _withoutyour _permission_."

He slammed the door, leaving Sam with one shaking hand stuck in his lanky hair to sink helplessly down on the bed.

**To be continued...**

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Hope to see you all much sooner next time around. Thank you all so much for taking time to read and review. I appreciate your patience and your kindness more than I can say. :)


	7. Chapter 7: Gravity

**Title: **What Comes After**  
Author: **November'sGuest  
**Character's: **Sam and Dean Winchester, Jessica Moore, Sam's Stanford friends (most OCs), and a brief appearance by Missouri Mosley.  
**Category: **Hurt/Comfort, Horror, Angst, and AU  
**Rating: **T (PG-13)  
**Spoilers: **None beyond second season if any…it's pretty much AU.  
**Disclaimer: **Supernatural and its characters are the property of Eric Kripke and the CW. This is solely written for fun…obviously no profit made.**  
Summary: **Sam and Dean travel to Stanford to investigate recent deaths of college students after receiving a call from Rebecca Warren. Meanwhile, as Dean recovers from his injuries, his new and bizarre visions of Jessica continue to haunt him and Sam. Sequel to "The Wake-Up Call."

**A/N: Since there is no amount of apologies to make the long wait okay, I'll just say that I feel really awful I dropped the ball like that and throw myself on your mercies. I won't even ask for reviews. For those interested in more detail about all the delays, I would point you toward my LiveJournal (but the posts are mostly f-locked, so you'd have to friend me to read all the entries).**

**The good news is, I've got the story pretty much completed (up through chapter 13 as of right now) except for maybe a couple of resolution chapters. The bad news is, I don't know how quick I will get them all posted because life hasn't gotten any easier and because it also kinda depends on how fast the beta reading turnaround is — and that can be understandably unpredictable for all of us involved with that.**

**At this juncture, I'd like to thank ****sodakey**** for the quick beta read and invaluable advice on this chapter. I've re-worked some things based on that advice and also made numerous edits with each read through-so there are probably many mistakes due to my subsequent tinkering. At one point, I felt pretty good about this chapter...but I think all my obsessing has probably broken it. Just like with watercolor, I didn't know when to stop and now the colors are muddy. Either way, it is far from perfect but I can't possibly look it over one more time. Plus, there are some funky format errors (dashes mostly) I couldn't get to work right. :(**

**Also, I want to thank all of you reading this or planning on reading this. I especially appreciate every PM and review that has encouraged me to keep going and that urged me on for more, more, more. You have no idea how much those words helped keep me going on when it seemed like an impossible feat! I hope the wait was worth it despite my misgivings.**

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Chapter 7: Gravity

Dean found himself parked where the latest victim, Julia, had died. He looked down at her black and white picture in the morning paper. Young and pretty, her whole life ahead of her. He touched the picture with his fingertip and wondered if there was a brother, a sister, or parents left heartbroken by her death. He hadn't meant to end up here, but when he'd seen the picture in the paper, he couldn't get it off his mind.

Dean glanced at the article to make sure he'd gotten it right. It was so strange. This location was closer to the university than the apartments and spirits usually stayed bound to a certain place. Mentally tracing the path of the deaths, Dean realized that each successive attack was a little farther away from the original location. Which — _weird_. This, whatever this was, seemed to be attacking in an ever growing outward circle, and that opened the door to the possibility of something other than a simple spirit needing laid to rest.

Throwing the newspaper onto the seat, Dean rolled his shoulders and stepped out of the Impala. He'd promised Sam he wouldn't do anything stupid, and coming here without back up might not be the smartest move, but Sam was drunk and Dean was tired of waiting. Waiting meant more deaths. Waiting meant more dreams of Jessica and watching his brother fall further into a tailspin. Which was stupid all on its own.

Dean realized Sam had lost more than Jessica that night. He'd lost his place of belonging in a group that clearly not only accepted him for himself, but also looked up to him. Something Sam had never had growing up — neither of them had. They never stayed anywhere long enough to establish that kind of bond with other people. The longer they stayed here now, the harder that loss would hit his brother all over again.

Thinking over the last year and a half he'd spent with Sam, he began to question whether keeping Sam close was worth that. His desire to rebuild his family and keep them close was causing more damage than anything — maybe if he hadn't come to find Sam in the first place, maybe Jessica would still be alive? What he was doing to Sam — keeping him in this life — maybe Chris had been right about what he'd said at the hospital, maybe _that _was the worst and most selfish thing he could possibly do to his brother.

Dean kept telling himself he needed to keep Sam safe and, to keep him safe, he needed to keep him close… but perhaps keeping Sam in this life was playing right into the hands of the enemy. It was no secret the Yellow-Eyed Demon wanted Sam for something. Maybe Sam would actually be safer in this other life. Here, in this place, Sam had a chance. A future far from the world of demons and monsters and death. How could he be so selfish as to condemn Sam to a life with no future? A life of hunting was a life of suffering and sadness and sacrifice. Just because Dean didn't have a choice didn't mean Sam had to be fated to the same dead-end.

Squinting up at the sun, Dean sighed and pushed his dark thoughts away. Whatever happened, none of them could move forward until this case was solved. He owed Sam that much.

Dean swept the area carefully, his sharp eye scanning for anything unusual. All he could see were remnants of police tape and blood. Then again, the lack of certain things told him what it wasn't. There was no sign of sulfur, no physical claw marks or anything that would indicate something strictly corporeal. Nothing much at all had been disturbed. Just as he turned to go, his eyes fell on a manhole cover. Walking closer to take a look, Dean could see a gooey, tar-like substance on the edges.

He flicked his knife open as he crouched to get a better look. Using the knife blade, he scraped some of the black slime off and held it in front of his face, sniffing at it. Ectoplasm — had to be. Despite the weird widening of the hunting grounds, this would mean something more of the spirit variety and definitely something seriously angry and old. Dean wiped the blade off, deciding to make a few more stops before heading back to Sam.

***WCA***

Sam blinked hard against the harsh, late-afternoon sun stabbing through the crack in the curtains. Sitting up, he automatically glanced at the other bed. It was empty. He looked around, finding the rest of the room, including the bathroom, empty as well. Scrubbing his face with his hands, he scooted to the edge of his bed and tried to remember what had happened. He remembered drinking with Nathan and then arguing with Dean. Lori had been here and _then_ they had argued and his brother had left.

Looking at the clock beside him, his heart somersaulted when he realized Dean had been gone for hours. Grabbing his phone, he looked down to see he had two voice-mails. Hoping it was Dean, he dialed to listen and waited.

_You have two new messages. First message: _

_Hey Sam, it's Becky. Do you think — can you come to the hospital? Please. Aaron — oh, Sam, the doctors don't know what happened, he was doing okay and then he wasn't. They say he's fallen into a coma. Please come._

_Next message:_

_Hey, it's Nathan. What's your brother doing at the apartments? I saw him pull up on my way out. Hope he doesn't run into Chris. Anyway, I guess if he's got the car, you might need a lift to the hospital, which is why I'm calling. I assume you heard about Aaron? Give me call, bro, and I'll swing by and pick you up._

_End of messages._

"Dammit, Dean!" Sam exploded, throwing his phone and watching it bounce harmlessly on the bed. "Stupid jerk! Pig-headed, stubborn—"

He shook his head, regretted that instantly and settled for pinching his nose and breathing in and out. Big, deep breaths.

"I can't do this right now," he mumbled to himself. Picking up the phone, he punched the keys a little harder than necessary.

"Hey, it's Sam. I called to see if that offer still stands? Man, I really appreciate it — you have no idea. See you in ten."

***WCA***

The minute Dean stepped inside the apartment complex, he felt a jolt of unease ripple up his spine. Sam was probably right, it was stupid coming here alone. But, this is where he needed to be. Not just because it was the best chance at a real clue, but also because he felt drawn — _compelled_ — to be here.

He jumped hard when a hand clamped down on his shoulder and whirled him around.

"What the hell—" he spluttered.

Chris's face was a thunderstorm. "What are you doing here, Winchester?"

Shoving Chris's arm off, Dean growled back, "Get off me. I don't answer to you, college boy. What I do is none of your damn business."

They glared at each other, chests heaving and eyes sparking.

"It _is_ when you're poking your nose where it doesn't belong."

Drawing a deep breath through his nose, Dean took a step back. "Look, man, I get that you watch out for your friends — it's admirable, really — but I have a job to do. That's all. Now if you don't mind—"

"Not so fast—" Chris stopped him with a hand on the cuff of his jacket.

With a fierce jolt, anger snapped through Dean and, before he knew it, he had Chris held firmly against the wall, his forearm pressed tightly across Chris's throat. "Listen, I ain't got time for this. Every minute we waste, someone else could die. Now, I listened to what you had to say at the hospital and maybe you're right about some things. But Sam's _my_ brother and it's _my_ job to protect him, not yours. And the best thing for him right now? Is for me to go up to that apartment, figure this out and kill it so we can all get back to our lives. Are we clear?"

Chris visibly swallowed, then stiffly nodded his head. Dean searched his face, flexing his arm, then drew back and let him go with a pat to his chest. "Good." He gave a brief, fake smile.

Once again, as he stepped away, he felt a hand on his arm — hesitant this time.

"I'm going with you," Chris said. "Sam's my friend and if that apartment is the key to helping him, then I'm in."

Dean paused. Aaron had been hurt the last time he'd acquiesced and he really didn't need another thing piled on his guilt list. He really needed the backup, but was the risk worth it?

"Look man, either you let me go with you or I'm just going to make trouble for you. It's your choice."

The stubborn set to Chris's face told Dean he meant it. He had no doubt the guy could cause all kinds of trouble if he so chose. After another second of indecision, Dean shrugged. "Your funeral, dude. Just… stay behind me, do as I say and stay out of my way."

He didn't wait for an answer and this time when he turned, Chris followed.

By the time they had climbed the stairs halfway, Dean was feeling lightheaded and shaky. Each step closer had an undeniable effect on him — stronger than before. He rubbed his fingers against the thoughts chanting in his head — Sam's voice, Jessica, his own thoughts swirling around, urging him forward (help me, _please_) and pushing him back (don't do anything stupid). Chris had fallen into silence behind him, but Dean could feel his eyes on him, assessing and perceptive. Dean had a feeling the dude didn't miss much and he wondered if he was passing or failing whatever test Chris held him to.

They both jumped when Dean's phone began playing loudly in his pocket. Fishing it out, he saw it was Sam. He was still trying to decide whether or not to answer it when it went to voice-mail. A bad feeling crept over him and he shivered. Pressing buttons, he listened as Sam's voice blast through the earpiece.

"_I know where you are and we'll be talking about it later." _There was a long pause wherein Dean could hear Sam taking a shaky breath_. "I got a call from Becky… Aaron's slipped into a coma. It doesn't look good. I'm on my way to the hospital right now. Meet me there or I swear to God, I'll come and get you myself."_

_Click. End of messages._

"Dammit." Dean grit his teeth, lips pulled back in a grimace. Flipping the phone shut, he clutched his fist around it, making his knuckles go white.

"What? What's going on?"

He turned to meet Chris's gaze. "That was Sam. Aaron's not doing well — he's unconscious, a-a coma they think."

"What?! He was fine last night. He was — he joked around with us." Suddenly Chris's features morphed from surprised grief to anger. Poking a finger at Dean, he yelled, "This is your fault! If he dies, it's on you. Do you destroy everything you touch? Jess? Sam? And now Aaron?"

Chris's words slammed into Dean with a physical punch. He lifted a hand and pressed it against his stomach, staying the sickness that washed through him. Guilt curdled in his gut — deep down, these were things Dean always believed to be true. It wasn't the first time he'd had similar thoughts, but he couldn't seem to shake it off like he usually did. He wanted it to stay buried in the darkest, secret shadows of his mind where it belonged.

"Look," Dean growled, "we don't have time for this. I'm headed over to the hospital if you want a ride."

Looking at Dean with disgust, Chris snarled, "No thanks, I'd rather crawl on my hands and knees."

Chris turned his back on Dean and stormed down the stairs. When they reached the bottom floor, Dean caught Chris by the elbow.

"I can't let you drive like this." Chris tried to yank away, but Dean held tight, saying, "Dude, don't be stupid, take the offer. You don't have to _like_ me, you just have to get there alive."

Dean stared pointedly at Chris's trembling hands. Scowling, Chris clenched them into fists. "Fine. But I don't owe you anything." He met Dean's eyes, resentment clear. Dean didn't bother to answer, just turned and led the way to the Impala.

The ride to the hospital was uncomfortable at best. Dean tried to ignore Chris's presence while Chris stared resolutely out the passenger window, his posture stiff and defensive. Once they found the right waiting room, Dean hung back, watching as Chris enveloped Becky in a tight hug while Sam and Nathan looked on with grim faces. Becky's sobs and Chris's soft attempts to comfort her left him feeling like the worst kind of curse and he longed to be anywhere but there. He could feel Sam's gaze on him, but he couldn't bring himself to meet it. His emotions too close to the surface, Dean was afraid his brother would see it all laid bare if he dared to look up.

"Hey, man." Sam bumped Dean's shoulder with his own, causing Dean to startle, head whipping up. He hadn't even realized Sam had moved. "You alright?" Sam squinted in the way that meant he was ferreting out cracks.

"Yeah, I'm fine." His voice chafed in his taut throat and he paused to clear it, glancing away. "Any news?"

Sam hesitated briefly before saying, "No, just that the doctors aren't sure what happened. They're running more tests and are supposed to update us when they get the results."

"How much longer?"

"Well, it's been a couple of hours now, but who knows." The last was said with the beginning of a face-splitting yawn. "I can't believe I'm still tired."

"Yeah, well, you're still hung over, you big girl. How 'bout some coffee?"

Sam threw Dean a grateful look. "Yeah, that'd be great. There's a coffee machine down by the elevators, I think."

Sam started forward, but Dean touched his forearm, glancing at the others as he said, "You stay here, I'll get it."

Uncertainty clouded Sam's eyes, questions forming on his lips. Just when Dean was certain Sam was going to ask questions he wouldn't — couldn't — answer, Chris approached them from behind, coming up to brush against Sam's arm. He shot a wary look at Dean before asking, "You okay, Sam?"

Dean didn't wait for Sam's response, glad for the reprieve _and_ chance to escape the heavy pall in the air. He slipped quietly from the room while his brother's attention was diverted and breathed a little easier with each step that took him _away_. He didn't _belong_ and he wasn't in full command of himself to keep his unease hidden. He bee-lined for the nearest bathrooms, needing a breather, just a minute to splash some water on his face and settle himself before searching out the coffee machines. Luckily, he didn't have to go far to find what he was looking for.

***WCA***

"How're you holding up?" Dean asked when he got back. He handed the muddy coffee to his brother and studied the way Sam leaned against the wall, hands dug deep in his pockets, shoulders rounded in a hunch. Misery at its finest.

Sam clenched his jaw, but nodded, letting his floppy hair fall across his face, obscuring his eyes as he stared into his cup. After a long silence, he murmured, "I just don't understand." His breath hitched making the next words dissolve into a whisper. "Why is this happening? Why now?"

Dean didn't know what to say. He would take this pain from his brother if he could — but, as he was learning, not everything was within his control to fix. Such was this and he hated it. It smacked of failure. He felt a thread of anger begin to form and he embraced it. Anger was something he knew, it was something he was comfortable expressing. Not like the squirm of feelings he'd beaten into submission within the walls of the hospital's over-sanitized bathrooms. Maybe he couldn't shield Sam from this, but there was something he _could_ _do _to end it.

"He's gonna be okay, Sam. I promise you, he's gonna be fine." Dean met Sam's eyes meaningfully before turning toward the door.

Sam grabbed his arm. "Dean, wait. You are _not_ going back there."

Dean let his arm hang in Sam's grasp. "Yes, Sam, I am. You stay here and watch them. I'll be fine."

"No." Sam's eyes bored into Dean's. "No, let's just talk about this, okay?"

"What's to talk about? Something is killing people, hurting your friends. I'm going to go kill it. End of story."

Sam scoffed. "We don't even know what _it_ is, much less how to kill it. And, if it's Jess…"

Dean tugged, trying to loosen Sam's grip. "That hesitation right there? That's exactly why you need to stay out of this."

"Don't do that," Sam growled. "You don't get to use that against me."

"Sam—"

"Code blue, room 284," the speaker over their heads blared. "Code blue, room 284."

Everyone in the room froze, their eyes glued to the personnel running past the door. Becky moved to stand next to Sam, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.

"We don't know it's him," Sam told her after a shocked minute, his arm falling away from Dean to encircle her shoulders. "Becky," he jostled her. We don't know it's him."

Becky blinked. Meeting Sam's eyes, she said, "We don't know it isn't."

With that she made a choking sound that turned into a stifled sob. Sam took her in his arms and began rubbing circles into her back. At first, she stood stiffly, then collapsed against him, her fingers clawing into his shirt as she hid her face in his shoulder.

Sorrow pressed into Dean's chest – the ache of it made his breath stutter. His vision blurred and pressure spiked sharply in his head. Everything around him faded into the background and time slowed, syrup thick. Lifting a hand to his head, he pressed against his temple with his palm, shaking his head as if that would loosen the sensation.

"Dean?" Sam's asked.

Dean looked up, found Sam's features blurring in and out of focus; the room spun dizzily. Clamoring for an anchor, he let his gaze drift first to Nathan, his puzzled eyes peering at him over Sam's shoulder, and then to Chris who glared daggers, as he always seemed to be doing. Chris's annoyance faded with eye contact and Dean didn't know what to make of that. Even Becky seemed to sense something was wrong as she turned in Sam's embrace, blinking red, wet eyes at him.

"I…" he began, his vision whiting out completely. He felt himself sway unsteadily before a solid grip caught him at the elbows.

"Hey, answer me!" he heard from afar, the words buried under a stark numbness settling over his senses. Cutting, bright pain seared through his head, a fiery lightning bolt blistering his synapses until he couldn't help the groan that escaped. Distantly, he could hear voices continuing to buzz around him; Sam's distinct above the rest, commanding, "No, I've got him. Someone close that door."

Dean blinked spots from his eyes as the light finally dimmed, gathering in on itself until it solidified into a hazy shape.

Jessica.

"…hear me? Dean, listen…" Her mouth continued to shape the plea, but her words were swept away as surely as if a swift gale had stolen them.

"Jessica," he began, bringing his other hand up to press into his skull. "Hurts, please…" he shook his head at her.

"…sorry, can't… must stop… please!" She advanced on him until his knees finally gave way; he felt himself falling and then he wasn't.

Suddenly, it was like being in two places at once. Jessica was still begging him to hear her as she stutter-shifted closer, her blonde hair and white dress whipping all around, but, superimposed on top of her image, was Sam's. It was Sam's concerned face that yelled something Dean couldn't quite catch, his fingers digging past Dean's sleeves into his flesh. He knew the instant their skin made contact. Sam stiffened and his attention abruptly veered to Jessica.

"Jess…" Sam whispered, and that came through loud and clear. She flickered then reappeared near enough to touch. All around her, thick smoke and angry flames came into acute focus, licking at her hair and clothes, but she didn't appear to be in any pain. This close, the rush of agony in his head flowed fast and furious… it occurred to him that maybe the harsh, awful noise in his ears was himself. He must've closed his eyes because now Sam was gone. He could only _see_ her.

"Please," Sam begged, his voice floating down from somewhere above, "you're hurting him. Stop."

She reached out, fingers coming to rest where Sam's grip pulled up his sleeve, right where the skin was bare. Her touch was painfully, shockingly icy even though the heat from the flames blasted hot against his face. His body electrified beneath her touch. He shook, felt his muscles lock and tighten — but for one moment, her words were perfectly clear even though her lips did not move.

"Dean, they will all die," whispered through his mind. "Please _see_."

Then Dean did see. A dark shadow loomed behind her, almost out of eye-shot. Sickening apprehension roiled in Dean's stomach and he heard himself whimper. He recoiled from the _wrong, wicked, perverse,_ tumbling through his mind.

"Jess, you're killing him. Please, baby, stop."

Sam's desperate voice filled his ears, the clench of his fingers painful against Dean's over-sensitized skin. Amazingly, Jess seemed to hear him this time.

"Sam?" she whispered, her surprised eyes bouncing away from Dean.

"Yes, it's me," Sam whispered back. "You can hear me?"

Her face broke into a brilliant smile, the edges of it wobbling and her eyes welling up.

"Sam."

Jessica reached out with her free hand and instantly Sam reappeared beneath her touch. Dean had just enough time to register it before an arc of energy seared through him — his body bowed and his eyes clamped tight against everything until there was nothing. He didn't know how long he drifted there, floating in a vacuum, but it didn't really seem to matter all that much.

After a while, the world slowly faded back in. Awareness sharpened — the cold floor seeped through his jeans and into his skin, bleeding away what little warmth was left in him and he shivered. A dull murmur clarified into words and then a voice. Hands shook him lightly, prompting him to open his eyes and look up into Sam's worried face. His brother was holding a tissue beneath his nose, catching the last trickle of blood. Behind Sam stood Nathan, looking utterly panicked, and, kneeling across from Sam, was Becky.

"Hey," she called softly when his eyes caught on hers, "you back with us?"

Dean's gaze shifted to Sam — the deep lines grooved between his brother's eyebrows made him want to reach up and smooth them away with a thumb. Dean tried to speak, wanting to reassure him, but all that came out was a ragged cough. He swallowed and almost gagged, finding his mouth cotton dry, his throat ragged and raw.

"He needs something to drink," Sam ordered over his shoulder as he pulled away the tissues and wadded them into a ball.

Dean didn't know who he spoke to, but a half-full water bottle appeared between them. Sam eased Dean up and helped him drink the tepid water. It tasted like heaven.

"You okay?" Sam finally asked, his own voice jagged on the edges.

Sam's grip gentled on his arm but stayed in place and Becky rubbed lightly up and down his leg. He'd scared them good. He nodded, acutely embarrassed and taken aback by the attention. His head still rang like a bell and he tried to blink away the dizziness, desperate to regain the lie of being in control.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he drawled out slowly, sounding a little drunk."Wh-what happened?" he asked, feeling unsure of his own senses.

Sam settled back on his legs and shook his head, a tiny movement. "You gave me a heart attack is what happened." He paused, then asked, "Are you _sure_ you're okay?"

Dean didn't say anything about the cold biting into him, how his brain was addled and foggy — he certainly didn't mention the pulsing burn left by Jessica's touch or how his body felt heavy with gravity, like he was being dragged down with every breath.

Instead, he said, "Yeah. I'm sure. Help me up?"

He jiggled his arm still in Sam's grasp, motivating his brother into levering them both to their feet. He suppressed the urge to flatten his palm against the shifting sands in his head and looked around the room, thankfully still empty except for them. The door that had been propped open was now shut, giving them the illusion of privacy. Chris was standing uneasily next to it, soberly watching the group. Everyone looked unhinged and Dean worried maybe he'd misunderstood their earlier concern.

"What is it? Is it Aaron?" Dean asked as he sunk into the nearest chair, tolerating Sam's hovering with silence.

"Uh," Sam started, his gaze shifting worriedly between Becky and Dean. "We don't know — it's only been a few minutes and we kinda had our hands full."

Dean grimaced in confusion. "What? What do you mean?"

"It's only been a few minutes from the time we heard the code until now. Nobody has had time to check."

"Minutes?" Dean asked, mind replaying what he remembered. "Are you sure?"

Sam's face pinched into unease as he took the seat next to him. "How long do you think it's been?"

Dean scrubbed his face with his right hand, thinking it through. "I don't know exactly. But it felt like quite a while, maybe a half hour at least?"

This time Sam's eyebrows both shot up. "What? Okay, wait, what makes you think that?"

Dean gestured with his open hand. "I-I'm not sure." At the growing distress on Sam's face, he hastened to add, "It's probably nothing. I'm sure it's just a—"

"Look," Chris broke in, "I think the important thing right now is to find out about Aaron. Can we just do that first?"

"Chris—"

"No, Becky — I know you're worried. Whatever that was," he flung his arm out toward Sam and Dean, "he seems okay right now. The rest can wait until we know Aaron's okay."

Sam looked at Dean and Dean nodded. "Yeah, go with 'em. I'll be here when you get back."

Sam looked skeptical, beacons of doubt clear in his eyes.

"Go on," Dean pushed, shoving at Sam's shoulder until he relented enough to stand. "I swear I'm okay, okay?"

"You'd better be here," Sam said curtly. "I mean, it, Dean. Don't move a muscle until I get back."

Dean shrugged as if to say, 'where am I gonna go?' But Sam continued to scowl until Dean threw up his hands and spat, "Fine, I get it."

As soon as Sam walked out of the room, Dean scrubbed a hand through his hair back and forth and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. _I can do this_, he repeated over and over to himself,_ I can do this, no problem_. He could be still for a few minutes and be a good, dutiful brother. That's what he told himself, but soon his legs were doing a nervous dance without his permission. Thoughts and worries crowded into his mind like beetles crawling under his skin — scratching and gnawing away at his raw innards. He couldn't push them away fast or far enough.

Nothing made any sense anymore. The case, him and Sam, whatever was happening to him — nothing. He felt lost — he felt alone. The crushing, constant weariness ravaged his defenses and he could be honest with _himself_ about that if no one else. This case was getting to him in new and fantastically hellish ways and sitting here doing nothing intensified the feeling if only because it gave him too much time to think. He tried to concentrate on positive thoughts, tried to keep himself distracted, but the quiet of the room took on a life of its own. It pressed into him until his chest felt heavy, constricted, and he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. The walls were closing in — his skin crawled, he was suffocating. He needed out. He needed fresh air. _Now-now-now_. Hoping Sam wouldn't eat him alive for disappearing, Dean sprinted for the nearest exit.

The sensation of time slowing down hit him again in the elevator, more potent this time — his distress must've shown because the lady with the rain slicker kept throwing him funny looks the entire ride down. Stumbling out the door into the lengthening evening, he closed his eyes and drew in deep, greedy breaths. He listened to the traffic on the street and let the thrum of the city fill his head. Every now and then, the hiss of the sliding glass door behind him would announce the presence of people leaving or entering the building — sometimes it was squeaking sneakers and sometimes it was clicking heels.

The air was thick with moisture that clung to his skin; the temperature eased with the deepening of oncoming night, a promise of cool rippling in currents. The cusp of twilight — his favorite time of day. The knot in his chest loosened ever so slightly and he exhaled his relief. Opening his eyes, he noticed the pavement sparkled with fading, scattered sunbeams and water droplets — puddles marked the dips and cracks in the cement. When had it rained? For that matter, why was he damp?

Looking himself over, he realized it must've been sprinkling when he came out and he hadn't even noticed. In his pocket, his cell phone beeped, letting him know he had a message waiting. Pulling it out of his pocket, he pressed the button and read Sam's angry text: "U said u'd wait. Where r u asshole?"

Dean thumbed a quick text back: "Outside — needed some air. Brb. Bitch."

A few seconds passed as he waited for the expected reply, but it never came. Stuffing the phone back into his pocket, he slid his eyes over the glistening cars and stared into the setting sun for a minute longer. At least, he hoped it was only a minute — he had the unnerving feeling that he couldn't be sure anymore. Shivering, he buried his hands into his pockets and made his way back to the waiting room.

All eyes found him the minute he walked in, but Dean blocked out all but one pair. Sam's jaw line was stiff and he didn't know if that meant bad news about Aaron or if his brother was just pissed at him for not being where he'd left him.

Dropping into the seat next to Sam, Dean knocked his elbow against his brother's arm.

"Well, what's the news?"

Sam breathed through his nose, his lips thinning out. "The code was Aaron…" He swallowed a couple of times, the frown curled between his brows deepening. Dean waited patiently for him to find his voice, his eyes glued to his face. "His heart had stopped, but they got him back. He's stable right now. His condition is about the same as it was when we got here –- no real change and no answers about what's going on with him. His doctors don't know what to make of it."

Dean bowed his head as he curled his lips in, valiantly trying to keep his emotions tamped down. He didn't want to say it, but to him it seemed awfully suspicious that Aaron would code the minute Jessica made her presence known. Maybe if he hadn't been here, it wouldn't have happened. Still didn't make sense, though. This wasn't how things worked. Nothing about this followed the rules. It was like shooting in the dark with a blind fold.

"They're going to let us visit him two at time as soon as the doctor has finished," Sam was saying.

"Well, that's good, right?" Dean asked. "They wouldn't let you in if he wasn't stable."

"Dean's right," Nathan said from Sam's other side. "They wouldn't let non-family members visit if he wasn't at least stable. Has anyone contacted his family?"

Becky nodded immediately. "Yeah, I called them, but even if they left immediately, they won't be able to get in before the weekend. I'm hoping he'll be better by then."

Everyone nodded, their faces set into the resolute masks of people who refused any other reality. Everyone, that is, but Sam who vibrated with a carefully controlled slow-burn of anger. Hot magma deep inside the volcanic chamber. Dean winced inwardly, knowing this was the worst facet of angry Sam.

"I'm gonna go get some coffee," Chris said after an uncomfortable silence dragged on too long. "Becky? Want me to get you something?"

She shook her head. "Not coffee, no. I'm too keyed up. Maybe some water?"

"Sure, I can do that. Be right back," he said, backing out the door.

"I'll come with," Nathan said, jumping up like a nervous frog. Chris didn't look too thrilled, but he didn't say anything as Nathan joined him.

As if just noticing, Sam unclenched long enough to frown at Dean's damp clothes and hair. "Why are you wet?"

"Uh…" Dean scratched behind his ear, screwing up his face. "It's been raining… well, misting by the time I got outside."

"You've been standing out in the rain all this time?" Sam's voice held disbelief and chastisement.

"Misting, Sam. Just a light mist — and it's warm out. It's not like I'm in danger of catching a cold or something."

"Then why are you shivering, huh? Got an explanation for that?"

Sam was being entirely too smug. Dean rolled his eyes, his gaze falling on Becky across the room watching them. "My brother, the mother hen," Dean mocked with a shrug in her direction.

A tentative smile touched her lips. "Yeah, that seems to be a consistent Sam Winchester trait."

Beside him, Sam huffed and rolled his eyes at both of them. Becky pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against and moved closer, her arms falling away from where they'd been crossed over her chest.

"But he's right, Dean. Even I can see you're shivering… and it's not cold in here. At all." She made a point of pulling her hair away from her neck to fan the damp skin there.

Sam snorted and narrowed a glare Dean's way.

Dean dropped his eyes, picking at a hangnail on his thumb. He really didn't need this kind of attention; he had no answers to give or re-directions up his sleeve — and he was far too smart to shoot himself in the foot by telling the truth.

Hesitant, she sat across from them. "What was that a while ago? I mean, I don't understand what that was—" She held up a hand before either of them could say anything. "And, don't tell me that was just some medical condition left over from the car accident. I know what I saw and that wasn't… _normal_. You were in pain, a lot of pain. And you both said Jessica's name… it was like you were talking _to_ her." Becky took a breath before adding, "She was my friend. I cared about her, too, so I deserve to know."

Dean exchanged looks with Sam, then asked, "So all that really did happen, then? You saw her… and _she_ _saw you_?"

Sam nodded, his demeanor thawing ever so slightly. "Yeah. But it all happened so fast — it was only a few minutes. What made you think otherwise?"

"Hey, guys," Becky snapped her fingers between them. "Still here… still waiting on an answer."

Sam raised his brows at Dean, asking permission, and Dean nodded, rubbing his hands across the top of his thighs — his body outwardly bracing for whatever reaction was forthcoming.

"Well, it's a long story, but the short of it is, Dean's been seeing Jess's spirit."

Becky gasped.

"What?! I mean, how… why? I thought you were the one with psychic powers?"

"Like I said, it's complicated. Very, very complicated."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," she muttered.

"The thing is," Sam said, sharing a glance with Dean, "we're not entirely sure what's going on. It's like Jess has latched on to Dean, but we don't know why. It doesn't make sense — she barely knew him. The only thing we know is since the accident, Dean's become… a lightning rod for the paranormal."

Becky's head tipped forward even as her eyebrows rose. "Is that the same as you?"

"No, not _visions_ — it's more like he's able to pick up supernatural signals…like he's a magnet for them. And he doesn't just see ghosts, apparently he can connect to them on their plane of existence."

"Okay," she drew out. "But is it supposed to hurt like that — or is Jess doing it on purpose?"

Dean shook his head, intent on squashing that line of thought. "It's not on purpose." Hesitating, he glanced at Sam. "I think she's asking for help. Or she's trying to help _us_."

Sam's head jerked. "What?"

Shrugging, Dean said, "You saw her, Sam. She didn't look like she was trying to hurt me. She didn't look angry — she looked scared. The last thing she said to me was, 'they will all die,' but it didn't seem like a threat — felt more like a warning. I think she's just desperate and doesn't realize she's hurting me."

"Okay, but what does that mean?" Sam asked, his eyes holding too much hope. Dean's heart thumped in his chest and he felt a blunt pang - how he prayed he wasn't encouraging misplaced hope.

"I don't know," he said. "What I do know is that this time, when she touched me, I could hear everything she said clearly… like the direct contact completed some kind of circuit between us. I think that's why she could see you. But she was definitely asking for help, I could _feel_ it."

Dean could see Sam desperately wanting to believe, but struggling. "Maybe she knows she's out of control and she's asking us to stop her?"

Tipping his head in acknowledgment, Dean agreed, "Yeah, that's a possibility. But that doesn't explain why I found ectoplasm at Julia's crime scene…or what I saw."

"What you saw?" Sam repeated. "At the crime scene or..."

"She told me to 'see,'" Dean said, "before she noticed you — she said 'see' and I did. When I looked, I saw something hovering behind her. It was a dark shape, like a shadow. It could've been anything, but my gut tells me it's something. Something not good. It made me feel..." Words didn't even begin to cover it, so he let the sentence hang. Shaking his head, he looked at Sam and continued, "I think we need to consider the possibility that Jessica is warning us against something else."

Sam and Becky stared wide-eyed at him, their faces completely gob-smacked.

Sam stuttered, "S-so you're thinking…what? That something is controlling her?"

"Is that possible?" Becky blurt. "How is that possible?"

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe its controlling her, maybe its not - I just know she _wanted_ me to see it. And I think I should stay away from the hospital."

"What? Why would you…" Sam asked, leaning forward. Then, frowning, jumped to the right conclusions. "Wh—wait a minute, you think Aaron coded because of you?" When Dean didn't say anything, he went on, "That's crazy, Dean. Why would you think something like that?"

"Oh, I don't know, maybe because he was stable when I got here, but the minute Jessica entered the picture, he coded and when she left, he stabilized. As long as _I'm_ here, we run the risk of drawing Jessica or whatever back… and if that's the reason for Aaron…" He shrugged again as if it made perfect sense.

"It's just coincidence." Sam's voice lowered. "You can't possibly know that it's anything more than that."

"All I'm saying is it's not worth risking. You can stay here as long as you need to, but I think I should go back to the motel — maybe do some more research."

Sam's face morphed into hard lines and cement corners. "You are not going back to the apartment — _especially_ not alone. That would be _beyond_ stupid."

Dean smiled what he hoped was something reassuring and, ignoring the physical repulsion of what he was about to do, said, "Yeah, you're right. That's why I'm just gonna cool it at the room. Really, I'll just take a nap and then poke around on the laptop. I have a few ideas I'd like to look up - see if I can get a lead on our mysterious shadow."

He kept the smile in place but felt guilt slide into his gut as he watched his brother agonize over wanting to believe him and knowing better. It was true that he felt his presence was a risk to Aaron, but he had no intention of napping or sitting on his thumbs. They stared at each other a long minute before Sam finally nodded.

"Okay. But keep your phone on and don't go _anywhere_ without me."

"Sure thing, Sammy." Dean stood and stretched like maybe the only thing on his mind was a nice long meet and greet with the bed. Before he left, he gripped Becky's shoulder. "I'm really sorry about Aaron — but we're gonna figure this out and stop it. Okay?"

Becky smiled sadly and nodded. "Yeah, I know you will."

Dean didn't look back as he walked out the door, but he could feel Sam's piercing gaze the whole way. Turning the corner too quick, he nearly crashed into Chris who had obviously been standing there for a while, eavesdropping. Chris's eyes flickered over Dean knowingly.

"I'm coming with you," he said.

"Back to the motel? Kinky." Dean smirked as he tried to shuffle further from the door.

Chris moved in front of him and stared back coolly until Dean started to worry their stalemate would draw attention.

"Don't you think it'd be a little obvious us leaving at the same time? Together?" Dean asked. "They'll be expecting you to stay until you see Aaron."

Chris shrugged. "It could be hours before they get in… and this way, Becky can stay in the room and let Sam and Nathan take turns. I'll just tell 'em I'm having you give me a ride home to take care of some important business I forgot. I can always come back later."

Dean finally relented. Spreading his hands out palms up, he said, "Knock yourself out." Then, with a cheeky twitch lifting the corner of his mouth, he pointed a finger at the other man and said, "I'll be in the car with bells on. Don't make me wait." With that he brushed by Chris, making purposeful, solid contact with his shoulder.

Ten minutes later, Chris pulled the passenger door open and climbed in.

"Okay, Winchester, show me what you've got," he challenged, eyes glittering in the half-light.

Dean smiled sideways, gunned the Impala and peeled away from the curve, tires squealing loudly across the parking lot.

* * *

**To be continued…**


End file.
